Growing Up
by ladymarycrawley
Summary: Set pre Series 1. What would have happened if Mary and Matthew had known each other from childhood? How would their relationship develop? Ch. 9 up now.
1. First Impressions

_This is just a random idea I had. What if Mary and Matthew knew each other from childhood? In this chapter, Mary is six, Matthew is seven and they meet for the first time. I'm assuming that Matthew and his family would be living in the village somewhere and that they would have next to no contact with the family at the big house as they aren't closely related. R&R please _

"MARY JOSEPHINE CRAWLEY! GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!"

The screams of her furious governess echoed throughout the house, intermingled with the whining sobs of Edith. She deserved that slap, Mary thought indignantly. How dare she play with _her_ dog toy and then get sticky jam on its nose? Stupid Miss Thompson must have given it to her, she was always trying to make her share things with her sister, but this dog was _hers_. Mary clutched the dog tightly in her hand, protecting it from any other dog thieves that might take it from her again. Her hand still tingling from the sharp smack she had given her sister, she fled from the nursery, her tiny feet running as fast as they could, down corridors, endless stairs, down into the kitchens. Mary flew through the kitchen, accidentally knocking a bag of raisins out of a kitchen maids hand. The maid squealed as the tiny black fruits scattered themselves over the perfectly scrubbed floor, being stickily trodden on and squished by a blur of dark hair and white dress which promptly disappeared into another room. Mary, frightened of getting another scolding, ran faster and ran full pelt into Carson, thumping into his solid frame.

"Lady Mary?" Carson looked fondly down at her with a twinkle in his eye. Her cheeks were rosy from running, her hair ribbon had become untied and trailed down over her shoulder. "What are you doing down here?" He raised his impressive eyebrows. "Hiding from Miss Thompson?"

Mary eagerly nodded her head, her messy curls bobbing up and down. "I HATE her!"

Carson gave a hearty chuckle at the irate little girls face and retied her hair ribbon. "Well now, Miss Thompson is going to teach you all the things you need to become a grown up lady."

Mary's face crinkled up as she thought about it.

"I _am_ a grown up lady though, aren't I, Mr Carson?"

Carson handed her a small brown paper bag from his shelf, filled with her favourite pear drops and smiled at the small girl. "Well, perhaps not _quite_ yet. But soon."

A screech tore through the kitchens. "MARY!"

"It's her!" Mary whispered. "What should I do, Mr Carson?"

Carson bundled her quickly towards the door. "May I suggest the stable loft as a suitable hiding place, Lady Mary?" He gave her a small wink as he closed the door and she giggled.

XxX

Mary ran down into to the stables, scuffing her white shoes on the rough ground and looked up at the loft. It was quite high, higher than she had thought and she hesitated before the wooden ladder. Mary shook herself crossly. She wasn't a scaredy cat like Edith, she was brave, an explorer. She bravely placed her foot on the bottom rung and began to climb. Maybe this could be a new game? But absolutely _not_ with that horrid Edith; perhaps when her new born sister grew up a bit, they could play together?

Before she knew it, she had climbed to the top of the tall ladder into the warm, fragrant hayloft. She grinned triumphantly at her achievement and noticed guiltily that she had torn a great rent in the side of her white frock, the front of which was now decidedly grubby. She saw a good hiding place in the corner where bales of hay had been tightly stacked from floor to ceiling and walked over, giving a gasp of fright when she saw there was already someone, a little boy with scruffy blonde hair, sitting there reading.

Her gasp made his head jerk up in surprise and he stared at her for a few seconds. Suddenly remembering his manners, he stood up and held out his hand, saying in a friendly tone, "Hello! I'm Matthew, what's your name?"

Mary wasn't sure what to do. She had never really met any boys before. Did her Papa count as a boy? Anyway, she felt sure that this boy shouldn't be here. Hmmm. What did Granny do when she wanted to scare people? Mary pursed her lips and glared at him, drawing herself up to her full height. She was secretly pleased to notice that she was just a little taller than him. Matthew's bright blue eyes widened in surprise at this unexpected reaction to his friendly greeting.

"_I'm_ Lady Mary Crawley. What are you doing here, in my Papa's stables?"

Matthew held out his book to her. "I'm reading _and_ I'm hiding from my father; he says boys shouldn't be reading made up stories." His happy face fell for a moment and he rumpled up his hair.

"Well, that's silly!" laughed Mary, her imitation of her grandmother dissolving in an instant. "My Papa has hundreds and millions of books in his library and he reads them." She paused for a second. "And he's a boy!"

Matthew's face lit up. "Does he really and truly have millions of books?"

Mary nodded enthusiastically. "Of course! He's an Earl, you know," she said, copying her grandmother's voice again.

"Do you live in Downton Abbey then? Mother says we're related to them, but only a little bit."

"How can you be related a little bit?" Mary scoffed. "You either are or you aren't!"

Matthew wasn't quite sure but tried to explain anyway. "Well...um...I think it's because we have the same last name, but you're a Lady and I'm Master Crawley."

"That's the silliest thing I ever heard! I know all my family. There's Mama and Papa, Edith and Baby Sybil, Granny, Auntie Rosamund and Uncle Marmy and that's it!"

Matthew's fair eyebrows knitted together. This little girl was making him cross now.

"You don't know anything! You're only five! Baby!" He stuck his tongue out at her. "And...and you're really ugly!"

"I'm SIX!" Mary shouted, pushing him hard in his chest with both hands. Matthew fell down into the hay, blinking in shock. "And Mama says that one day, when I'm grown up, I'll be the most beautifullest girl in the whole world and everyone will want to marry me, even the King, so there!"

Matthew's annoyance at her was forgotten instantly as he pointed at his book in excitement. "That's just like in my book! Look!" He showed her the picture in his book of the beautiful princess with flowing ebony hair and porcelain skin, surrounded by princes and dukes all vying for her hand. Mary cautiously sat down beside him, entranced by the colourful drawings.

"What happens to her?" she asked tentatively, a little ashamed of her outburst. What would Mama say if she had seen her push down this boy?

"She's the most lovely princess in the world and everyone wants to marry her, all the princes and everything but..."

"What?" asked Mary eagerly.

"She turns them all down, even the very richest prince of all."

Mary laughed at the absurdity of it. "But why?"

"She falls in love with someone else, but she can't marry him."

"Why not?"

"Her family don't think he's rich enough and he's not a prince."

"Oh. Well... shouldn't the princess marry a prince?"

"She should marry the one she loves, don't you think? That's what I'm going to do anyway and me and my wife will live in a house full of games and books and _my_ sons are going to read all the stories they like." Matthew gave a firm nod at this last statement and Mary pondered over these new ideas. "And anyway, it turns out that he was a prince after all, 'cause someone dies and... well...I don't know how it works, but he gets to be a prince."

They sat, their heads together over Matthew's story, enjoying the tentative beginnings of new friendship. Mary shared her pear drops with her new friend and introduced him to her dog, fixing him with a firm stare, daring him to laugh. However, instead of laughing at her, Matthew solemnly made a little seat out of hay for the dog to sit in. Perhaps this boy wasn't so horrible after all, she thought. And he was _definitely_ more interesting and fun than her sisters.

As they began to strain their eyes reading to the end of Matthew's book, Mary realised it was getting dark and she stood up abruptly, breaking out of their fantasy world.

"Oh no! I'll be late for dinner and Mama will be so angry!" She began to run towards the ladder but Matthew shouted after her.

"Wait!"

"What?"

"Do you want to read tomorrow? I've got another really good one!"

She nodded, cheekily sticking her tongue out at him and scrambled down the ladder, steeling herself for a scolding.


	2. Better than Boys

_I was so chuffed at all the reviews and story alerts I got in such a short time! Thank you all very much Now in this one, Mary is 7 and Matthew is 8. This chapter is a little bit more Mary focused. If you're not British, then rounders will probably be unknown to you; it's basically baseball and is an integral part of any British childhood! Please R&R _

An extremely young lady, the Crawley sister's new governess, placed her navy blue hat firmly on her head and shook her shoulders into her light summer coat, squaring them as if to face battle. The old governess had left suddenly after Mary had hidden a frog in her dressing gown pocket; ("the final straw, Lady Grantham! The _final_ straw!") Mary giggled as she remembered the agonised screeches of the hated Miss Thompson when she had put her hand into her pocket to find a moist, slimy and slightly bemused frog in there.

The new governess peered over the balcony, seeing the girls neatly brushed and dressed in summer frocks and coats, polished sandals and pretty straw hats. She smiled; she didn't have to worry at all! What sweet girls they were, so pretty and... Her pleasant thoughts about the girls were quickly shattered as she descended down the stairs into quite a different world.

"Lady Mary! Keep one hand on your sister's pram at all times, please! Lady Edith! Pulling her hair won't make her stop sticking her tongue out at you! Remember that you are ladies. When we go out into the village together, you are representing your family, so _please_, please behave! Do you think you can do that?"

"Yes, Miss Winters," Mary and Edith chorused together, their faces suspiciously sweet and innocent, looking every inch the well turned out aristocratic girls they were. Miss Winters gave a sigh of relief as calm seemed to descend on the group, punctuated only by the happy gurgles of the baby Sybil. They began their walk up the sweeping drive, three pairs of perfectly polished shoes crunching gravel underfoot, the click of the pram wheels ticking pleasingly along.

"OUCH!"

"Lady Mary, please! It isn't appropriate for a lady to yell in such a way!" Miss Winters admonished.

"But Edith pinched me! Look!"

"I would never do that, Miss Winters. I'm a very good girl," Edith lisped. "Mary pinched herself."

Mary exploded with rage. "Why would I do that, you stupid baby?"

Tears came easily to Edith and she began to blub, raising her brimming eyes innocently to Miss Winters' face.

"Lady Mary, how could you? I am very displeased with your behaviour indeed!"

Miss Winters bent down to give Edith a comforting hug to calm her, Edith's chin resting on her shoulder. Edith looked at Mary and gave an infuriating smirk. Mary clenched her fist and glared at her, hardly daring to say another word in case she was told off again.

They continued their walk, Miss Winters making quite sure that Mary and Edith stayed on separate sides of the pram for the rest of the journey. They stopped outside the village post office.

"Now girls, I will just be a few minutes in here. I have to send a telegram to my sister. I want you to wait out here quietly and be on your best behaviour," she said, trying to look at them as firmly as possible. Miss Winters entered the post office, the shop bell jingling merrily as the door clicked shut. Mary turned her back to Edith, not trusting herself to even look at her. As she turned, she saw a lively group of local boys playing rounders on the village green, cheering each time the wooden bat made contact with the ball, making a satisfying _thwack_. Matthew was lined up in the batting team, waiting patiently for his turn whilst chatting amiably with one of his school friends. He walked forward to bat and he hit the ball a decent way across the green, rolling and bouncing until it came almost up to Mary. His eyes followed the ball and saw Mary, standing by a pram by the post office, looking irritated. He waved excitedly to her and she made a face at him. The other boys soon noticed them and began to jeer at him.

"Ooooh Matthew, is she your girl?"

"He is a girl!"

"He bats like a girl, anyway!" teased the biggest boy, a solid, dark haired lad of twelve who overtopped all the other boys by a head.

The lads fell about laughing at this good natured, boyish joke, but Matthew's cheeks blushed a deep crimson and he stared down at his shoes. Mary, having heard the unkind remark, left the side of the pram amidst Edith's protests, marching over to the biggest boy and stared up into his face, her dark eyes flashing with anger.

"That's all you know! Besides, girls are great at batting!"

Matthew tried to calm her; "Mary, it's alright..." She cut him off with a blistering glare and snatched the bat from one of the boys. She stood defiantly in the batting square, glaring at the big boy. She had never played in her life, but she supposed it couldn't be too hard. Could it? She hid her nerves as she challenged him. "Go on, unless you're scared to bowl to a girl..."

The boy scoffed at her and beckoned the fielders to come closer. "She won't hit it far, lads; probably catch her out..."

Mary clutched the bat tightly in her hand, her heart pumping hard with excitement and apprehension as he backed away for the run up. He sped towards her, bowling a fiercely fast ball. She swung the bat back and THWACK! The boys gasped as it flew high over the heads of the fielders, twenty hands shielding twenty pairs of eyes from the blazing sun as they followed the balls trajectory in utter amazement. The fielders came to first, pelting after the ball at top speed. Mary stood stock still in the square, not quite believing she'd done it.

"RUN, MARY!" Matthew shouted from behind her. She dropped the bat and ran as fast as she could, tapping first, second... The bowler was jumping up and down on the spot, screaming at his fielders, "get back! Come on!" Mary was running so fast, she felt as if she was going to fall over her own legs, but spurred on by the cheers of the batting team, she tapped third... The ball was coming in, fourth base fumbled the catch and she crossed fourth, straight into a crowd of cheering lads and Matthew, all patting her on the back and grinning.

"Not bad for a girl!"

"Wizard!"

"Absolute champion!"

All the boys' faces were shining with glee, beaming at Mary as schoolboy praises fell from their lips. Mary was elated; she loved the boy's games and manners, so straightforward and honest, in stark contrast to the prim company and games she was subjected to at home.

"Mary, that was the best bat of the whole game, really it was!" gushed Matthew, overjoyed that his friend had shown up the bullying older boy. "Can you play with us? For the rest of the game?"

Mary opened her mouth to say yes, of course she could, she would _love_ to, but the bell of the post office jangled loudly and, looking over in trepidation, she saw the accusing finger of her sister pointing her out to the worried young governess.

"No. I have to be a lady," she sighed, rolling her eyes and smoothing down her crumpled dress. Matthew and the other boys groaned in disappointment as she walked away from the happy, boisterous game towards her sisters and Miss Winters.

"Lady Mary! What on earth were you doing, playing with...with...with _boys_!" Miss Winters cried faintly, almost whispering the last word. "When we get home, you are to go straight to the nursery and write one whole page on suitable activities for young ladies."

This governess was going to have to go as well, Mary thought.

XxX

_The suitible activites for ladys are reading and sewing and being kind to people. This is becose they are gentel and quiet and nice things and no mud goes on your dress. Also you should not shout and play rounders becose this is what boys do and then wen you grow up men will not marry you if you are muddy and loud..._

Mary couldn't think of anything else to write; besides, this was the silliest thing she'd ever written and she didn't believe a word of it. She stared out of the window at the gloriously sunny day wishing she could be playing outside. Why did boys always get everything fun? Matthew had said she was the best batter of the whole afternoon, much better than all the boys. Why shouldn't she play with them? Anyway, she hated sewing, she thought, stabbing her pen viciously into her paper, making a big black ink blot all over her writing. She decided to write a letter to Matthew instead, just like she'd seen her Mama doing. It must be ladylike too, if her Mama did it, mustn't it? She dipped her pen in the inkwell and began to write in her very best handwriting:

_Dear Master Crawley,_

_i am very sory I could not play rounders today but silly miss winters says i cannot on acount of my being almost a grown up lady but i __will__ play another day wen she isnt looking so there. perhaps we could play in our hiding place tomorow and you could bring your princess book becose that is my favourite? _

_Lady Mary Crawley_

Just as she'd finished blotting the ink, Carson peered round the nursery door.

"Mr Carson, could you please post this for me?" she said, handing the note to him. Carson looked down at the note, stifling a laugh at the contrast between the formal address and signature against the childish letter.

"Is for this Dr Crawley's son?"

Mary nodded. "It needs an envelope though, doesn't it? Like Mama has?"

"Hmmm. I'll see what I can do," he said, soberly folding up the note and tucking it safely away in his inside pocket.

XxX

Next morning, at the breakfast table, Dr Crawley passed his son a letter.

"Master Matthew Crawley, Downton Village, Yorkshire."

Matthew opened it enthusiastically, having never received post of his very own before, addressed only to him! He suppressed his excitement as he read the note, not wanting his father to take notice of him. His father took no notice, fully absorbed in his newspaper, as the little boy excused himself politely, kissing his mother on the cheek as he left, joyfully sprinting up to the Abbey stables as fast as his legs would carry him.

TBC


	3. Running Away

_Thank you again for all your lovely reviews and for all the story alerts etc. Much appreciated! Here, Mary is 8, Matthew 9 and their friendship is about to be discovered by Cora, who isn't best pleased... I used Carson's story here; I know he said Mary was 4 or 5, but you'll forgive a little artistic license! Please R&R :D_

"BANG!"

Matthew laughed giddily as he hid behind a tree from Mary.

"No, Matthew! I shot you, so you have to fall down!" ordered Mary.

Matthew obediently fell to the floor, clutching at his chest, making very convincing dying noises.

"You look idiotic!" she giggled. Matthew promptly sat up, offended that his excellent death was being scorned.

"You shouldn't be doing the shooting anyway, that's my job! I'm in charge of the expedition, I'm Captain Crawley and you're my assistant."

"I'm Captain Crawley!" she yelled, pulling her imaginary pistol from her imaginary holster and pointing it at him. Matthew threw his hands in the air in mock surrender.

"Well, we can't _both_ be Captain Crawley!"

"Let's play something different then." Mary pondered for a minute. "What about... the woods are a jungle and we have to hide from the natives?"

"We need camouflage then, to help us blend in," suggested the ever imaginative Matthew.

The two children set to work picking up leaves from the ground, Mary tucking in small handfuls of crisp autumn leaves into her blue satin sash and sticking them in her hair. Matthew painted two battle stripes with thick, dark, oozy mud onto his cheeks. Mary stared at him in horror.

"Ugh! What are you doing?"

"Making my face camouflaged so the natives can't see me!" Matthew returned, with a _isn't it obviou_s_?_ sort of expression. Mary's dark eyebrows knitted together as she considered carefully for a few moments.

"I want some too!"

Mary presented her cheek to Matthew with a serious expression and he obligingly smeared great dark lines of mud down her pale cheeks. He accidentally got a little in her hair, but decided to keep that particular information to himself. They began tiptoeing stealthily through the undergrowth together, brambles and thorns catching at their clothes as they hid from the jungle natives.

"We should split up. That way, we can escape better," whispered Matthew, so quietly she could barely hear him, so quietly he made it seem all too real and she felt a little scared.

Mary nodded in agreement and Matthew trudged off out of sight. The woods suddenly seemed big and eerie and dark now she was alone and she gave a shiver. A branch snapped somewhere behind her and Mary jumped.

"Matthew? Is that you? Matthew?"

No one answered and Mary began to panic, stumbling forward blindly through long grass and weeds, tangling round her feet and she fell hard to the ground. She tried desperately not to cry, a single tear escaping and running down her face.

"Matthew? Are you there?"

Matthew jumped out from behind a tree. "Of course I'm here! Where else would I be?"

He looked at her, his head tilted to one side, with a puzzled look. Mary wiped her face, plastered on a smile and vowed to herself, right then and there, that she would never let Matthew Crawley see her cry. Matthew noticed her teary eyes, but knowing Mary, if he said anything about it, he was going to get his head bitten off. He decided to take her mind off whatever had upset her. Had it been him? No, he reassured himself, he would never do anything to make Mary cry. He pulled her to her feet and with a cheeky grin, he yelled,

"I'll race you to that bench!"

The two children raced, Matthew touching the bench first in triumph, Mary coming flying up behind him only seconds later.

"Mary?"

Her mother's voice rang in Mary's ears. As her mother looked at her in horror, Mary realised that her Mama was definitely _not_ going to sympathise with the need for camouflage on a jungle expedition.

XxX

Having been dragged across the lawn by the hand of her incredulous, furious Mama, who had sent Matthew packing with one icy look, Mary stomped through the high oak doors of the Abbey. The maids began to grumble, witnessing the creation of a doubtless unscrubbable trail of mud and leaves left behind and trodden into the priceless carpets by the young lady.

"O'Brien, could you please ask the nursemaid to prepare a bath for Lady Mary?"

O'Brien shot a venomous look down at the filthy young girl who defiantly held her gaze.

"Very well, milady," she grumbled and begrudgingly made her way down the servants stairs.

The Countess turned to her daughter, barely managing to suppress the anger in her voice as she noticed the mud caked into Mary's hair.

"When you are clean and dressed, I will come and talk to you. I am _very_ disappointed in you, Mary. I will be writing to that boy's mother as well."

As Mary hung her head and pouted, the nursemaid appeared, a model of crisp, clean efficiency, to take the unruly daughter off her mother's hands.

"My, my, Lady Mary! You have been in the wars!" cried her nurse.

"I haven't been in the wars, I've been in the jungle," Mary muttered under her breath. Grownups didn't understand _anything_.

XxX

Cora made her way up to the girls' nursery to reprimand Mary, accompanied by O'Brien. She sighed as she paused for a moment outside the door, placing her hand on the frame to support herself for a brief second.

"Is everything alright, milady?"

"Yes, quite. But no one ever warns you about bringing up daughters..."

XxX

_Mrs Isobel Crawley_

_Downton Village_

_Yorkshire_

_Dear Mrs Crawley,_

_I would be much obliged to you if you could see to it that your son no longer seeks the company of our eldest daughter, Lady Mary. I hardly need write that it is an inappropriate friendship for her to continue, particularly taking into account the position that she will take in society in due course. I send my sincere appreciation to yourself and your husband for your anticipated cooperation in this matter._

_Lady Grantham_

XxX

Sitting cosily curled up on his windowsill, lost in a world of knights and battles and dragons, Matthew was rudely torn away from his daydreaming by the raised voice of his mother from downstairs.

"Inappropriate? He's nine, for goodness sake!"

Matthew was intrigued and slowly, very slowly, turned the brass door knob of his bedroom door and tiptoed to the balcony, peeking through the bars. He saw his mother shaking with suppressed rage, clutching a crumpled letter in her hand. What had he done?

"The Grantham Crawley's are a proud family, Isobel. I doubt if Lady Grantham wants her precious eldest daughter to be gallivanting about the village with the son of a middle class doctor!"

"_Upper_ middle class, Reginald!"

"In any case, the boy shouldn't be out playing with little girls. What's wrong with him?"

Matthew's heart sank and he softly made his way back to his room. He had always felt his father didn't like him and now he had heard his father's cruel words, it made it all the more real. Perhaps his father would be happier if he wasn't there? Matthew bravely gulped down the lump forming in his throat and wiped his eyes. If Mary could hold back her tears, then so could he. He packed a little bag with his favourite books and toy soldier, sneaking down the stairs (avoiding the creaky one second from the bottom, of course) and helping himself to some biscuits from the kitchen as he left, quietly lifting the latch and disappearing out into the crisp autumn afternoon.

XxX

Charles Carson was checking his perfectly organised wine register for the third time, making sure that they would have a sufficient quantity of the 1894 red for Friday's dinner party, when he was interrupted by a knock at the door. A freshly scrubbed and dressed Mary entered, fuming and embarrassed from her Mama's lecture.

"Mr Carson, I've decided to run away and I wonder if I might take some of the silver to sell?" she asked, jutting out her chin.

He looked up from his wine list into the face of a very determined girl. "Well, that could be awkward for his Lordship. Suppose I give you sixpence to spend in the village instead?"

Mary stood with a stubborn look on her face, but Carson's kind look soon soothed her.

"Very well," she conceded. "But you must be sure to charge me interest."

Carson chuckled and searched in his coat pocket for his old leather wallet. He opened it up, handing her the promised sixpence; Mary gave a wry smile and clambered onto his office chair to bring herself up to his great height. She pressed her lips to his cheek and jumped quickly down, running off with the sixpence clutched tightly in her hand.

Mary didn't feel like going to the village after all and made her way down to their special hiding place, clambering up the ladder (which didn't seem quite so frightening anymore. Strange...) There she found Matthew curled up in the hay, his blonde hair all mussed up and his face a little tearstained. A light dusting of biscuit crumbs were scattered around him, as well as on his mouth, amidst a few books and a little tin soldier. A little snore escaped him. Not wanting to wake him, she quietly tiptoed over, sitting herself down next to him. He wouldn't mind if she played with his things while he was asleep, would he? She amused herself for a while, acting out battles with the solitary soldier. Just as he was about to charge the enemy, Mary gave a massive yawn, her eyelids drooping with tiredness. It wasn't as much fun playing by herself. Perhaps...she should just...close her eyes...just for a minute...just a minute. Without even realising, she lay down beside Matthew and fell soundly asleep, the two runaway children curled up comfortably together, contentedly slumbering in the warm, soft hay.

_TBC_

_Little Patrick Crawley will be making an appearance in the next chapter. I wonder if little Matthew will be jealous..._


	4. Great Expectations

_I can't believe the amount of reviews I have gotten for this story! Thank you all so much and please keep reviewing, I love to hear what you think! Mary is 9 here, Matthew is 10. Patrick arrives at Downton...We see them (especially Mary) growing up in a very short time. Please R&R_

The entire Crawley family and the staff stood outside in the frosty morning, awaiting the arrival of James and Patrick. As the carriage was seen rattling up the extensive driveway, Cora gave an unwelcome last minute instruction.

"And I want you to be very nice to Cousin Patrick, Mary. Show him around Downton and play some games with him, perhaps you could even go riding together!"

"Why? I thought you said I wasn't allowed to play with boys!" Mary sulked.

"Mary. It is very important that you get along with Patrick."

"Why?"

Cora considered telling her the truth. She looked into the face of her eldest daughter, growing up fast, and she felt a wave of sadness wash over her. Not yet, Cora told herself, she's too young.

"Just do as you're told, Mary. Hush now," she hissed, as the carriage pulled up to the doors.

The staff stood to attention as a footman opened the carriage door and out came James, a thin, grey, mean looking man with sharp eyes that saw everything. Patrick, on the other hand, could not have been less like his father if he tried. A fat, red headed boy of about eight or nine years old slumped out, his eyes droopy and glazed over as if he was bored with everything and everyone. She had to play with him? _This_ dull looking boy, when she could be playing real, important games with Matthew. Although they had to play in secret now, that just meant that their games became more imaginative, more reckless and daring to make the most of the stolen time. Yesterday, Matthew had climbed to the top of the tallest tree in Downton woods and swung back down again, gleefully swinging from branch to branch like a monkey. Patrick looked as though he would break any tree he tried to climb! Mary looked up at her mother with a pleading look, rewarded only by a swift, hard pinch to her shoulder as she welcomed their guests.

"Welcome to Downton, Cousin James! It's been far too long since we had the pleasure of seeing you. And Cousin Patrick, what a handsome young man you are getting to be!"

Mary swiftly turned an outburst of disbelieving laughter into a long cough, trying desperately to keep a straight face. James peered down at her, raising an eyebrow as if making an inspection.

"And this must be the young Lady Mary, I presume?"

"Yes. You remember Edith too? And our youngest, Sybil."

Her sunny face beaming with joy, Sybil toddled over on slightly unsteady legs, wrapped her arms around James' knees and firmly hugged him. The maids covered their mouths with their hands to hide their tittering at the heir's amazed and uncomfortable face as Sybil's nurse gently prised her tiny, sticky fingers from the expensive grey trousers.

XxX

"So it's agreed then? When Mary turns twenty one, she will be engaged to Patrick?"

The Dowager Countess decided to add her opinion into the discussion. "Of course it's agreed, Robert! It's been _agreed_ for years!"

"Hmmm," droned James. "Now that I'm here and I've had a chance to get to know the girls personally, I wonder if the Lady Sybil mightn't be a better match for him? She seems to be the most... amiable and even tempered of the three girls. And perhaps a better age for Patrick? Lady Mary is a little older than him, after all."

"Odious man," mumbled Violet under her breath.

Having heard his mother's remark, Robert coughed in embarrassment and replied to James' suggestion, a hint of worry tingeing his voice.

"My dear fellow, a month or two older hardly matters, surely? Mary is already a very accomplished young lady and will make a fine wife for Patrick and a wonderful Countess. Patrick would have to wait another six years after he comes of age before Sybil could possibly marry. No, we can't give precedence to Sybil; as the eldest daughter, Mary must be our priority."

The Dowager Countess rolled her eyes in exasperation as James took an overly long moment to consider, furrowing his brow in deep thought.

"Very well. We will announce their engagement on Patrick's twenty first birthday. There's plenty of time for her to mature and to get to know him before they marry. If you would be so good as to have your lawyer send over the estate documents, I would like to have a look at them myself."

"Ah, yes. You mean Murray. Such a helpful man, you'll find him very well informed. Poor chap must have read over those documents a thousand times!"

"What if Patrick doesn't want to marry her?" Cora softly interjected.

Violet burst with frustration at her daughter in law still clinging to the notions of the New World.

"Oh please. Young people are so wrapped up in this romantic drivel! It's a frightfully American notion and _we_ are not American! Patrick and Mary will be married and that's all there is to it."

Violet rammed the end of her cane into the wooden floor, the rap echoing on the wooden floor with a note of finality.

As the adults continued their discussion, going over the details as they signed her life away, Mary listened in abject horror, her ear pressed to the keyhole. She felt cold inside with a feeling she couldn't quite explain. The adults had been acting a little strangely all morning and then when they all decided to come in here to talk, Granny coming up from the Dower House too, Mary decided it must be something very exciting. She couldn't rest until she knew what was going on, but now she wished that she had gone to play as her Mama had told her to do. These thoughts whirling around in her head were cut short as the door opened suddenly and she fell inside, the shocked gaze of all four adults burning through her as she stood up straight, guilt written all over her face. The guilty silence of both the adults and Mary intensified as no one spoke for some moments. Thankfully, Violet decided she should be the first to speak.

"Mary, my dear?" said the Dowager Countess, her corset creaking as she eased out of her armchair.

"Yes, Granny?"

"The key to good eavesdropping is not getting caught."

XxX

Her Mama had explained everything. In those few moments, Cora had watched her daughter shoulder the expectation of a world which Mary could not yet fully comprehend. A world of loveless marriage, entails, male dominance, financial issues, the estate, the honour of Downton, her two failed pregnancies after Sybil. The doctor had said there was no possibility of any more children. Of course, Cora didn't tell all of this in so many words but all the weight of it fell on the shoulders of this little girl of nine years old. Mary did not cry or scream or whine as Cora expected she would. Mary simply stood there, allowing her Mama's words to wash through her as she explained that one day, she would take her place.

"So you see Mary, it's not so bad. One day you will be the Countess of Grantham, just like me and just like Granny was before me. You'll get to throw parties and go hunting and entertain..."

"That sounds nice, Mama."

And it _did_ sound nice; getting to wear pretty dresses and go to parties, everyone having to do what you wanted because _you_ were in charge. Mary squashed down the niggling feeling that she was just a pawn in someone else's game, just an insignificant part of a long line of women who had married the Earl of Grantham. Cora was surprised at Mary's composure; it wasn't like Mary to keep her emotions to herself!

"Well then," Cora said, still slightly taken aback. "Perhaps you could take Patrick out riding this afternoon."

XxX

Mary swept into the nursery with an air of authority, smartly dressed in black breeches and hat, her riding crop hanging loosely by her side. Her Edith and Patrick looked up in astonishment from their game. Mary looked so grown up all of a sudden.

"Come along, Patrick. We're going riding."

Clearly his father had told him to be nice to Mary; his bored look had lessened somewhat as he stood up and gave a smart bow to her.

"Certainly, Cousin Mary. I would be delighted."

"But we're playing chess!" Edith protested, tears threatening to spill.

Mary simply rolled her eyes at her sister, leading Patrick from the nursery without another word.

In the stables, Mary deftly mounted her beloved chestnut pony, patting his neck lovingly as she sat atop him in her leather side-saddle. One of the stable lads was roughly hauling Patrick into the saddle of Edith's pony. Luckily, the horse snorting happened to mask a similar noise made by Mary at the same time. They trotted off, Mary carefully keeping her horse's stride just a little quicker than Patrick could manage. As they reached a glorious expanse of field, Mary took a deep breath of the pure English country air, pulled on the reins of her pony and waited for Patrick's to plod up to her.

"Let's race!"

"Well, I don't really..." Patrick stuttered, but she was gone.

Mary whipped her pony into a gallop, the bumpy ride loosening her hair, icy cold wind streaming in her face. She could see her breath and her horse's breath like white misty clouds winding up into the winter air, her cheeks reddening from the cold and exertion. The wind in her hair and face seemed to blow all her cares away; the speed of the horse was exhilarating. She laughed out loud at the wondrous freedom of it all, laughing even harder when she glanced behind and saw that Patrick's pony had decided it had wanted to come along for the gallop anyway, despite its portly rider's protests.

XxX

Matthew was on his way home from school, his brown satchel bumping merrily at his side as he walked on the frosty grass, the sparkling fronds crunching delightfully under his boots with each step he took. As he admired the way the sunlight made the countryside shimmer, he heard sounds from the next field, horses harrumphing and galloping hooves. And a girl's laugh...that was Mary's laugh, he was sure of it! Perhaps he could catch her before she rode home and he could tell her all about that little robin's nest he had found in the playground during break time! Clutching his satchel to him, he ran and ran and then stopped dead as he saw her riding with another boy, clearly enjoying his company if her merry laughter was anything to go by. He bit his bottom lip as he watched them ride round the field. Matthew suddenly found that he didn't want to see Mary today after all; perhaps he could tell her about the robins nest another day. Not wanting to be seen, he snuck quietly away. He wrapped his thick black winter school coat more tightly about him, trying to keep out the cold that he hadn't noticed before.

XxX

Mary was puzzled. Usually Matthew was such a happy boy, always inventing new games and adventures for them. But today, he seemed different, she thought, not knowing he was having similar thoughts about her. He had politely turned down all her ideas and now they were just sitting there, doing nothing. Matthew decided to broach the increasingly uncomfortable silence growing between them.

"Who was that boy you were with yesterday?" he asked innocently.

"Oh, that's Patrick." Mary made a face. "He's who I've got to marry when I grow up."

"Oh."

Mary decided to change the subject. She didn't want to talk about Patrick; it felt wrong somehow, something private.

"What are _you_ going to do when you grow up, Matthew?" she asked brightly.

"I have to be a doctor like Father," he groaned.

"You don't seem very happy about it!" laughed Mary.

"Well, _you_ don't seem very happy about marrying Patrick!" Matthew snapped.

As Mary's laughs died, dissipating into the cold December air, he regretted his outburst. "I'm sorry, Mary. I just meant that, well, wouldn't it be marvellous if we could choose for ourselves?"

"Oh yes," she breathed, her mind filling with images of travels to exotic lands, flame coloured birds and elephants' impossible trunks and... "But I can't. I'm going to be the Countess. It's all decided."

Matthew gave a hum of dissatisfaction.

"But you Matthew, you can do anything! Anything you wanted to. What would you like to do?"

"I want to do something where I can read lots but where I can help people as well. But there isn't really a job like that," he said with a sad smile.

"Yes there is! You can be a lawyer."

TBC


	5. Misunderstanding

_Mary is 10, Matthew is 11 in this chapter. I'm sorry that I haven't updated in so long; back to uni and all the hideous essays that entails... Everyone was so kind with their reviews so I found a moment to write this chapter for you guys, so I hope you enjoy it! And I love to hear what you think, so please R&R :D_

Mary paced back and forth in annoyance, scuffing her shoes in the dirt and leaves.

They had agreed to meet at two o'clock today, but here she was, it was gone three and _still_ there was no sign of Matthew. She slumped down to the leafy floor, resting her back against the tree trunk. She pursed her lips in frustration. How _dare_ he forget to come? Did he forget? Maybe he just didn't want to come and see her... of course not! Why wouldn't he?

She wanted to tell him about dinner. Mama had said she could sit with the grownups for dinner today (at last!), instead of with her sisters in the nursery under the eye of their watchful governess. And she had a brand new frock and hair ribbon and...

Ugh! Where was he? He had promised to come. Matthew had promised to come and give her one of the paper boats that all the boys had been making and floating down the river. She had watched enviously from afar as Matthew and all the other boys had floated their little paper boats down the river, cheering their ship on as they raced on the current. Matthew had noticed her watching, a wistful look in her eye and had tactfully offered to make her one and bring it to her today.

Exasperated, Mary hauled herself up, pulling a scrap of paper and a pencil out of her bag. She scrawled Matthew a note, neat handwriting forgotten as her pencil flew angrily across the paper, jabbing out the full stop so hard that it pierced the sheet. She poked a thin, low branch of the tree through her letter to keep it in place and she stormed back to Downton, leaving the angry little note swinging gently back and forth in the breeze.

XxX

Mary twirled in front of the long looking glass, trying to see her new frock from all angles. Her disappointment and anger at Matthew was momentarily forgotten as she admired the way the jet beads sparkled in the candlelight and the red silk seemed to suit her somehow. Edith sat pouting and glaring at her elder sister, whilst Sybil gazed up at Mary with complete adoration.

"So pretty, Mary!" said Sybil, giving Mary a hug. Mary grinned down at her happy little sister, smoothing her hair away from her face.

"Thank you, Sybil darling."

Cora popped her head around the door.

"Mary? It's time to go down. The guests are here!"

Mary took one final admiring glance in the mirror, smoothing down her dress and following her Mama down the stairs. She couldn't believe Mama was going to let her stay up for her first grown up dinner! She tried to pay attention to her Mama telling her the names of the guests that were coming, but Mary was too nervous to take anything much in. As they entered the dining room, her Papa gave her a kiss and whispered to her.

"You look lovely, Mary. So grown up!"

Mary beamed and proudly took her place at the dinner table, feeling a little nervous as she sat with the adults for the first time. Her Mama sat on her right (presumably to keep an eye on her) and to her left sat a man of about her father's age, a Sir Anthony...something or other. Oh well! It wasn't important and besides, he was _terribly_ dull. As the courses kept flowing, perfectly timed by Carson, no one paid too much attention to Mary and for once she was glad not to be the centre of attention. All these grownups! They laughed and chattered about the dullest things! Sir Anthony made a joke about farming and her Mama laughed as though it was the joke of the year! Mary couldn't understand it, but she saw that it pleased Sir Anthony to have amused the Countess. In fact, as she listened to the banal chatter, Mary began to observe that the ladies seemed to be merely making the men feel good about themselves, no matter how poor their jokes! Was this what being a lady was all about? It didn't seem very interesting at all. Apparently her boredom showed in her face, as when she looked towards Carson, solemnly standing to attention by the door, he relaxed his face when no one was looking and gave her a reassuring wink. Mary wanted to giggle desperately, but instead she calmed herself, making her face look placid as she sipped daintily from her water glass, just as Miss Edwards (yet _another_ governess) had taught her. Her ears perked up as she heard a familiar name break into the conversation.

"I was terribly sorry to hear the news about Doctor Crawley, Lord Grantham."

"Ah yes. A terrible business, that. Poor chap couldn't have been more than forty five..."

What could he mean? What was the news about Matthew's father? Nervously, Mary raised her small, clear voice above the adults to ask her Papa;

"Papa, what happened to Doctor Crawley?"

Robert gave a small, sad smile, pausing for a moment whilst considering what to tell his daughter. The guests stopped talking and there was an awkward silence across the table, as the company looked everywhere except at the little girls inquiring face. Her Papa cleared his throat to answer her.

"I'm afraid he passed away last night, Mary," he said, turning away to face the rest of the guests, smiling his affable smile as he added, "but we mustn't upset the ladies with all this talk; shall we go to the library, gentlemen?"

Mary's face blanched as her father imparted the news of Matthew's father's death. Poor Matthew. She had to go and find him, she had to do something. She wanted to run away from this horrid dinner and find him. Mary gasped and clapped a hand to her mouth as she realised something else.

That terrible note. How _could_ she have written it? What if Matthew found it and read it? The idea was incomprehensible, gut wrenching. No wonder he hadn't shown up this afternoon. She had blamed him, but it was her fault. Why had she been so angry? She squirmed uncomfortably in her chair, imagining his reaction to her childish, bitter note, her words only making him feel worse. She had to get the note back, destroy it, burn it, do anything to stop him reading it, to stop a fresh source of hurt being piled on him. The image of Matthew's face crumpling in sadness whirled around in her head; her heart ached. She was supposed to be his friend! She was supposed to comfort him at times like this, not to hurt him. What kind of girl was she? What was wrong with her?

"Mary? Are you quite alright, darling?"

"Yes, Mama," choked out Mary. "May I go? I'm...I'm so tired."

Noticing her daughters pale, drawn face, Cora let her go.

Released at long last from the tedious company, Mary snuck out of the front entrance. Thankfully no servants were on hand to observe her as they were all preoccupied with this dinner and the guests. Mary flew to the tree where she had left the note, hoping she could get rid of it before Matthew could read it...

It was gone.

XxX

Matthew curled himself up under the bedclothes. He was still fully dressed but he couldn't find the strength to change out of his clothes into pyjamas. He was just so...numb. He was ashamed of himself. His father had died and he couldn't... he just didn't feel anything. The thought made him sad. He was more upset at that the fact that he wasn't upset than at his father's death. What kind of a boy was he? What was wrong with him?

And Mary's note. Matthew still clutched it tightly in his hand, the note warm and crumpled in his grasp. Her few words had made his stomach squish up somehow. Her few words had made him feel terrible, like the worst person in the whole world.

He couldn't have met her, however much he might want to. His mother had kept him close by all day, holding his hand and sobbing quietly into her handkerchief. She had handed him one of her handkerchiefs (lightly scented with lavender, the safe, soft smell of his mother) last night, expecting him to cry. But he hadn't.

In his last few moments, Dr. Crawley had spoken to his son, never letting up his strict demeanour even at the end.

"Matthew...you must be... you must try to be a man now. Look after your mother... don't let me down..."

Shortly after this, Dr. Crawley had drawn his last breath and his mother began to cry, clutching her husband's hand as he lay perfectly straight and still under the white sheets. Matthew sat completely still, hardly believing what had happened. This was when his mother had handed him the handkerchief. He looked down at it in surprise. He was supposed to cry. He knew he should. For Heaven's sake! His father had just died. But...nothing. He felt oddly as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Matthew groaned and buried himself deeper under the covers as he recalled and still felt these things, these terribly wrong feelings.

Mary had said he was a horrible boy. He believed it.

XxX

Matthew woke just as the sun was rising and beginning to peep through the crack in the curtains. He just lay there, warm and cosy in the mound of sheets and blankets, staring up at the ceiling. He watched the dust floating about in the sunlight, the slow fall of the dust making him feel pleasantly relaxed. A tapping sound began to pierce his consciousness. Tap. Tap. Tap. What on Earth was that? He dragged himself out of bed, noticing he was still dressed in his shirt and shorts. He tiptoed around his room, trying to source the mysterious tapping. It was coming from the window! He peered out of the window, down into the dew soaked garden. Matthew smiled in surprise.

"Mary?"

"Matthew, I just came to say...to say..."

"What are you doing here? You must have been up earlier than anyone!"

"I'm sorry, Matthew. About your father and..."

Mary suddenly realised how silly and insignificant she would sound if she brought up the note. His father had just died! That was the important thing.

"You came here at half past five in the morning to tell me that?"

Matthew looked down at her with a knowing look. Under his gaze, his blue eyes staring at her, Mary had to tell the truth; he was the most honest person she knew, so she had to be honest too.

"I'm... sorry about what I wrote. I...I didn't mean it...truly."

"I know."

Matthew turned away and disappeared from the window. Mary's eyes started to prick with tears. He couldn't forgive her! She began to walk slowly away when a loud whisper called her back. Matthew was back at the window, something small and white in his hand. She couldn't make out what it was.

"I promised you this and, well, I thought I'd put your note to good use!"

Matthew threw the small white thing out of the window to her and it floated gently down, landing at her feet. Mary bent down to pick it up.

It was a little paper boat.

_Hope you enjoyed this! In Chapter Six, Matthew is going to help teach Mary some Greek and Latin I think... Also, they are growing up so fast... I can't wait for them to be teenagers ;)_


	6. Français et le grec

_Thanks for all the reviews again :D Keep them coming! You will have to forgive my appalling French in this chapter :S Matthew is 12, Mary is 11_

The two eldest Crawley girls sat in the schoolroom as their French mistress chalked up some new words and phrases on the ancient blackboard. They sat at two wooden desks, scratched and worn by generations of Crawley children (Mary particularly liked where her father, as a small boy, had carved a little dog into one of the desk legs with a compass needle). The desks were placed far enough away from one another to prevent any talking or fighting. Cora had decided to separate them in the schoolroom after one particularly vexing day a few weeks before; whilst Edith had been bent over her work, Mary had carefully, ever so gently, picked up the end of Edith's braid and placed it into the inkwell. The resulting mess had been on a catastrophic scale. Neither Edith nor the governess had noticed Mary's trick until the end of the lesson, by which time the black ink had soaked irrevocably up into a good three inches of Edith's light golden hair. Edith had screamed at the top of her lungs, the shrill shriek piercing through the whole house. Inconsolable, she had run around the schoolroom and out into the corridor, trailing great lines and droplets of the dark ink behind her into carpets and curtains as her braid flailed wildly about her head. Once she had finally been calmed a little, Cora had had to have O'Brien cut Edith's ink stained hair into a less-than-flattering bob, Edith sobbing as chunks of light hair floated gently to the floor. Mary had been sent to her room for the rest of the day in disgrace.

Mary looked down at the schoolroom floor and grinned as she saw the faint ink stains in the carpet, reminding her of that day. It had been worth it, she thought, glancing over at Edith's terrible haircut. Just then, Edith caught her eye and Mary took delight in smirking at her, twirling strands of her waist length dark hair in Edith's direction. Edith's face turned pink with anger and was just about to open her mouth to say something, when the French mistress turned around from the blackboard to face them. The two girls swiftly turned away from one another, sitting bolt upright to face the suspicious mistress. A short, thin, greying French woman peered at them through her spectacles. Their innocent faces were _much_ too innocent to be believed, but she was certainly not going to question it. She simply didn't have the energy.

"Right, girls. Today we are going to be continuing with our French conversational skills. We are going to act out a scenario; Lady Mary will be herself and Lady Edith, I want you to act the part of a gentleman asking her to dance. Try to remember the pronunciations we worked on last week, please."

"Oh! Why do _I_ always have to be the gentleman?" moaned Edith.

"Because no one is ever going to ask you to dance!" snapped Mary. "Not with that haircut anyway..."

"OH! You are the worst..."

The mistress waved her hands frantically, cutting short Edith's outburst. She had had quite enough of this already.

"Enough, girls! Lady Edith, begin," she ordered.

"_Oui, Mademoiselle Girard_..."

Edith sulkily turned to face Mary and reluctantly began the exercise. "_Comment t'appel tu?"_

"_Je m'appel Lady Mary, monsieur."_

"_Etes-vous bien__?"_

"_Merci monsieur, je suis bien."_

"_Voulez-vous danser avec moi, Lady Mary?"_

"_J'ai promis que__la danse à__Lord Grosvenor__."_

"_Où est-il__?"_

"_A la table à manger, je crois."_

"_Alors vous devriez danser avec moi!"_

"Excellent, girls!" cried Mademoiselle Girard. "Now, what could we say to rid ourselves of an unwelcome persistent suitor?"

"_Tu me rends malade__d'ennui?"_ suggested Mary, her dark brown eyes dancing wickedly.

"Certainly not! _Méchante fille!_" exclaimed their mistress, a look of shock and horror in her eyes as she stared at Mary.

"How about, _ma_ _mère__me cherche__.__Excusez-moi_," suggested Edith in a superior tone that aggravated Mary to the limits of her control.

"_Oui_, Edith. _Much_ more suitable. Lady Mary, I have no desire to report you to your mother again, but I'm afraid you must learn what is appropriate in the schoolroom. Come along."

Mademoiselle Girard opened the schoolroom door, standing beside it and gesturing to Mary to come with her. Mary followed behind the Frenchwoman as she searched the house for her Mama, eventually finding her lounging in the library, some neglected embroidery in her hand.

"Lady Grantham?"

Cora looked up, saw the mistress and almost groaned aloud. What had Mary done _now_? They made such a comical picture, though; the short, irate woman with her tall, stubborn daughter standing behind her, looking over her mistress' head.

"What is it _now,_ Mademoiselle Girard?"

"I simply _cannot_ teach Lady Mary today, your ladyship. She refuses to make appropriate responses in her oral French. Her French is truly excellent for someone so young, she is very gifted..."

At this, Mary looked at her in surprise. She hadn't expected that!

"...but she is so stubborn. She is wasting her gift for French on silly jokes and quips. Her sister is not nearly so accomplished (here Mary snorted but was quickly silenced with one look from her Mama), but one can always rely on her to try and say the right thing."

_The boring thing, _thought Mary, as her mother's despairing gaze fell on her once more.

"Mary, go to your room, please," said her mother. Mary, glad to escape another scolding, swiftly and quietly removed herself from the room.

XxX

"Ugh! It's such a waste of time! We don't learn anything useful or interesting! It's all _vous avez de belles fleurs_ and_je vais__danser avec vous _and we just repeat them over and over and _over," _raged Mary to Matthew that sunny afternoon in July. Matthew had just broken up from school for the summer and was in a very contented mood that day. He couldn't help chuckling at her; she just looked so funny when she was angry!

"Can't you make it more interesting?" suggested Matthew, trying to be helpful.

"How? Whenever I come up with a response that isn't as dull as paint, Mademoiselle Girard just glares at me and Edith just sits there smiling when I get told off! It's insufferable!"

"Well, at school, our classics master gets us to learn things by reading stories in Latin or Greek and that way, you learn it without even realising! You could do that, I suppose," mused Matthew.

"I wish I could learn Greek and Latin," sighed Mary. "But all we get to do is French and sewing and dancing. Oh, and how to curtsey," she grinned wryly, jokingly sweeping him a deep curtsey.

Matthew laughed as she bobbed back up again. He plastered on a pompous face, sticking his nose in the air and bowed to her. "I'm so terribly important, you know, _très__ important,_" he teased her in a mock aristocratic voice.

"Oh, stand up Matthew! You look so foolish," said Mary, trying to keep a straight face. He straightened up again. As he rose, Mary suddenly noticed that Matthew was a little taller than her. Oh. When had that happened? She had always been the taller of the two and had always been secretly rather pleased about it. It didn't _really_ matter, she supposed. The pair sat down under their favourite tree, basking in the warm afternoon sunshine.

"Tell me about your Greek lessons."

Matthew paused to think for a moment. "Well, we learn about all the Greek myths and they have lots of gods and battles and strange creatures and things like that. I could teach you some of it."

Mary raised an eyebrow and stared at him in astonishment. He felt a little embarrassed all of a sudden about his impromptu offer.

"I mean...if you wanted to," stammered Matthew. "And you could teach yourself too. I bet your father has lots of books in his library that you could read."

"I know he has a lot of very old Greek books. He always helps Patrick with his Greek lessons when he comes to visit," sighed Mary. "But he wouldn't teach me. I asked him once, but he said I wouldn't understand it."

"Of course you would! You're so clever! For a girl, I mean..." Matthew teased, rewarded for his remark with a swift smack to the arm.

XxX

"Cora, have you seen my copy of the Odyssey?"

"No, darling. Why?"

"It's gone completely missing! There's no note of it in the library ledger and Carson says none of the servants have got it."

"Perhaps one of the girls took it out and forgot to write it down?"

"Of course not! What would one of the girls be doing with a great copy of the Odyssey like that! It's not even a translation, it's in the original Greek!"

"Hmmm. What a mystery, darling!"

XxX

Some weeks after Matthew's offer, the two children found themselves squirreled away in their favourite old hiding place, poring over Robert's copy of the Odyssey.

"So, I think this bit translates as 'fade away and die.'"

Mary pushed her dark hair back from her face, strands falling haphazardly from her braids where she had been clutching them in concentration for the whole afternoon.

"What about this next bit? I can't make it out at all!"

Her head moved from side to side, flitting between the great text on the floor in front of them and the Greek lexicon, trying to cram in as much as she possibly could.

"Umm... 'that I forbore, thus, to speak my love.'"

"That doesn't make any sense!" groaned a discouraged Mary.

"Of course it does! He's saying that he loves her, but he has to be careful. He doesn't want to make her angry."

Mary sat back with a frustrated sigh, leaning her back comfortably against a hay bale, exhausted from learning all afternoon.

"Oh. How do you know so much Greek, Matthew? Surely you can't have learned it all in school."

"Mmmm... mostly from school, but I like it. I always read it when I can and you get better as you go on. I need to learn it anyway for when I go to..." Matthew broke off momentarily. "And the stories are brilliant too!"

Matthew pulled out a small green leather-bound book from his jacket pocket and held it out shyly to Mary.

"I got you this. It's got all the good stories in it; Perseus and Medusa, Andromeda, Heracles...I thought you could read it when you get really good!"

Mary hesitated for a moment, trying to remember what she had been taught by her grandmother. She had never received a present from anyone except Mama, Papa or Granny. This was different. Words she had read came to mind: '_never should the lady accept expensive gifts at the hands of a gentleman...gifts of flowers, books, music and confectionary may be accepted.'_ But Matthew wasn't a gentleman, he was just...Matthew!

"Mary?"

Mary jolted back into the real world, realising that Matthew was still holding the book towards her.

"Thank you, Matthew. How kind."

She took the book from him, giving him a gracious smile.

"But I must go now. Goodbye."

Mary scrambled down the ladder and exited the stables with some speed. Matthew was left there, absolutely perplexed. Had he offended her in some way?

Mary ran to her room, the book tucked away under her arm. She closed the door and opened the book, flicking through the pages, in awe at the dense Greek text. She would never be able to read all of _that_, surely? An inscription on the flyleaf caught her eye.

_J'espère que vous apprécierez ce plus que français! _

_Your friend, _

_M. Crawley_

_August 1902 _

Mary smiled to herself. She lifted up her mattress and pushed the book underneath, away from prying eyes.

XxX

_So I hope you enjoyed that! The important bits of French are basically this: Mary's reply to what a suitable reply to an annoying suitor would be was "You make me sick with boredom." Edith's was "my mother's looking for me, excuse me." Matthew's inscription in the book says "I hope you like this more than French!" Please R&R for this chapter, I love to read the reviews! Next, chapter 7- Matthew is going off to boarding school... sad times._


	7. The Only One

_Hi guys! This chapter is a bit longer than usual, so I hope you'll enjoy! Mary and Matthew are 12 and 13 respectively in this chapter. As ever, please R&R, I really appreciate your lovely feedback!_

"What do you mean you're 'going away'?"

Matthew faltered in his response under Mary's hard, unrelenting stare.

"Uhh...Father left some money in his will to send me to school when I was thirteen. And, well, I'm thirteen now and Mother wrote to the headmaster at Marlborough a little while ago to see if they could take me."

"Oh, and you just _forgot_ to relay this information, I suppose?"

"We didn't hear back for so long that I thought perhaps I wouldn't have to go. Only last week they wrote and said they can have me," he sighed.

Mary valiantly swallowed down a lump in her throat.

"But you'll be back for the holidays? For Christmas and Easter and summer?"

Matthew bit his lip and looked her straight in the eyes. Seeing the hurt there and the hope, he couldn't bear to hold her gaze any longer and he ashamedly lowered his head.

"Mother is...that is...I won't be..." Matthew stammered, trying to find the words, the words that would make this easier. But there were none.

"Matthew?" she questioned, her eyes widening more every second as she felt him slipping away.

"Mother is moving to Manchester soon after I leave for school. Father's gone and I'll be away, so she's decided to move there to be nearer her sister. So I won't be coming back here in the holidays, I'll be there. In Manchester."

"Manchester? But that's miles away!"

"Please don't be upset, Mary."

"I'm not upset!" she said, confused by the slightly squeaky sound that seemed to have taken over as her voice. She coughed to clear her throat. "I'm just surprised you didn't think to tell me that you just _happened_ to be going away forever!"

"Well it's not as if I'm overjoyed at the idea of leaving! How would you like to be sent away from your mother and your friends to go and live with a lot of strange boys?"

Mary's lip trembled slightly. She hadn't thought...only that _she_ was losing him, that _she_ wouldn't have her friend there, but of course it was just as bad for him and he looked so nervous that she felt quite protective of him all of a sudden. She slowly placed her hand on his shoulder to try and soothe him.

"It's going to be alright, you know."

"Is it?"

"Of course!" Mary said brightly, with a tone of easy confidence that she could not feel. "When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow."

Mary quickly recovered herself from the cold shock that jolted through her, as she became ever more expert at hiding her feelings with each fresh disappointment.

"But I haven't even got you a leaving present! How rude of me," mused Mary, looking around as if she could conjure a perfect gift from mid air. "Ah!" she exclaimed, rooting around in her bag for something.

"You don't have to give me anything, Mary!"

"Here."

Mary held out her precious dog toy to him. She supposed she was too old for such things now, but it seemed to bring her luck, it made her feel safe, so she carried it (hidden away in secret) with her always. Perhaps it would do the same for Matthew? Her simple, kind gesture was almost more than Matthew could bear. He knew (of course) that she had carried this with her every day since they'd first met, since they played and read together on that first day. He couldn't clearly remember what life had been like before he had met Mary. Who had he played with, confided in, talked to, joked with and teased?

"Oh..." he breathed. "I couldn't take that. It's too special."

"Nonsense! It'll bring you good luck and remind you of home."

Matthew reached out his hand, curling his fingers almost reverently around the proffered toy. "Thank you, so _so_ much. What can I ever do to repay you?"

"You must promise to write and tell me about all the adventures you're having. I quite envy you, really. Getting to go to a real school...and think of how much you'll learn! When we meet again, you'll know so much more."_ Than me, _she silently added. "And- and you'll make so many new friends! You'll forget all about me," she teased, tamping down the gut churning feeling that this might be so.

He wanted to say _I'm scared_, but it didn't seem like the right thing to say when Mary was trying so hard to be cheerful for him, trying so hard to still her quivering chin.

"Of course I'll write! And how could I forget about you?"

XxX

Matthew gulped as he looked up at the imposing red brick building, towering over him as he stood stock still next to his new school in his too big navy blue blazer. A lanky second year stumbled out of a side door and noticing him, ambled over.

"Ah, there you are. You must be Crawley. New boy."

"Yes," he stammered. "Matthew."

"Better keep that to yourself, young chap. Only surnames here."

Matthew nodded vigorously as the tall boy walked off. The second year turned in exasperation, beckoning Matthew to follow him.

"You glued to the floor, Crawley?" Matthew shook his head energetically. "Come on then!"

Matthew followed him in, through long, intimidating corridors, the portraits of headmasters from the past glaring down at him through their painted spectacles. The tapping of their identical brown leather shoes echoed through the daunting hallways and stopped at a study door where the lanky boy knocked, entering when he heard a brisk, loud "Yes?"

"Hallo, Perkins. This is Crawley, new boy."

The sixth form boy was sat at his desk, writing down some last minute Latin prep and barely glanced up at Matthew before finishing his sentence with a flourish.

"Right. Very good, Faulkner, now pop off, there's a good chap."

Faulkner gave Matthew a reassuring smile and a hearty clap on the shoulder before scooting off out of the sixth formers study. Perkins stood up, Matthew gaping up at him. He must be six feet tall at least!

"Well, Crawley. I'm Perkins, the prefect in charge of your dorm. When I ask you to do something, I expect you to hop to it. You've got a bed down at the far end of the dorm with the other shrimps. Off you go."

Matthew hesitated after this somewhat brief and abrupt welcome as Perkins sat back down at his desk, resuming his Latin prep. He was too frightened to ask where on earth his dorm might be! The words were there in his head, but when he tried to vocalise them, they simply wouldn't come. Perkins looked up again in irritation.

"Why on Earth are you still standing there gawping like a fish out of water?"

"I...I..."

"Dorm's upstairs, third floor. If you can find Faulkner again he can show you. Now go, for goodness sake!"

Matthew didn't need to be told twice and bolted from the room. As the door closed behind him, he breathed a sigh of relief. Faulkner was still standing there, legs crossed nonchalantly as he leaned against the corridor wall.

"Don't mind Perkins. He's a good sort, really. Much better than the tyrant we had in charge of the dorm last term. His beatings were ten times worse than any we got from the masters! I've still got the scars!"

Matthew's eyes widened in fear. They had used the cane at the village school, but only for the worst behaviour and Matthew, being such a quiet, friendly sort of fellow, had managed to avoid the canings that so many of the other boys of his age had been subjected to. The idea of the older boys being able to cane him! It was quite simply terrifying.

"Come on. I'll show you the dorm. It's nearly time for bed anyway. Now, new boys tend to come in for a bit of a ragging in the dorm, especially on their first night. Don't be a sap. The last new boy cried and our prefect ordered everyone in the house to send him to Coventry for the whole of his first term."

With these cheerfully pronounced words of doom, they reached the dormitory door and walked in to a large room with about twenty beds. The first thing that hit Matthew was the noise. Used to the peace and quiet of village life and of being an only child, it seemed to him to be some sort of warzone. It was an absolute chaos of pillows and noise and fighting as he stared, open mouthed, at the disorder. Faulkner, apparently seeing nothing unusual in this, fought his way through the melee, hauling Matthew down the aisle while pushing aside the joyfully scrapping boys.

"This is your bed. Unpack your things as quick as you ca..." Faulkner was cut off by a pillow sailing through the air landing straight on his head. "I'll get you for that, you rotten beast!" And he was gone, leaving Matthew alone to unpack his bag. He unbuckled his leather holdall and on the top of all his clothes, he had Mary's gift, the little toy dog. He picked it up and smiled, for one moment reminded blissfully of home...Suddenly, a boy of about sixteen snatched it from his grasp, holding it between thumb and forefinger, waggling it in front of his face.

"What's this then? Look, boys!" he jeered, holding the dog just out of reach.

"Give it back," Matthew muttered through gritted teeth.

"No, I don't think I will. It's a dog, isn't it? So it ought to be outside." The boy strode to the window, opening it and waving it tauntingly outside.

"Don't you dare." Matthew was shaking now with barely suppressed rage. How dare he touch it! It was his, it was _Mary's_...

The boy shrugged his shoulders and jolted his hand, meaning to toss Mary's toy out into the garden below, but before he could, Matthew had charged at him, knocking the much bigger boy to the ground.

"Give it back!"

The other boys in the dorm had gathered around chanting "FIGHT!" All Matthew could see was the sneering face of the boy beneath him as he clutched his grubby hands around Matthew's precious mascot. _No one else should touch it, it was theirs._ Matthew punched him full in the face; blood came streaming out of his nose and the sticky feel of it on his clenched fist made Matthew come to his senses. What was he doing? He snatched the toy dog from the other boy's hand, tucking it in his inside jacket pocket. Offering his hand to the boy, he pulled him up and offered him a handkerchief to staunch the flow of blood. To his surprise, the boy was smiling.

"You've got quite a right hook on you, little chap! Gardiner," he introduced himself, shaking Matthew's hand. The other boys looked at Matthew with a little more respect; after all, he had just taken down the biggest boy in the dorm!

Perkins popped his head round the door.

"What are you all doing up?" he yelled. "Come on, into bed, jump to it!"

There was a mad scramble as the boys raced to put on their pyjamas and each boy dashed to his own bed, tucking the blankets tightly around them against the night time chill of the cavernous room. Perkins blew out the lamp and closed the door. Almost as soon as he had done so, excited whispers and chuckles broke out. Matthew huddled down into the sheets, holding Mary's toy against his chest as he tried to get warm. As the dorm finally fell silent (save for the sounds regular breathing and the occasional snore) he brought it up to his face in the dark, breathing in the comforting scent of home, familiarity and her.

XxX

Isobel watched from the window as a slim, dark haired girl paced up and down the street, her face the perfect illustration of boredom. Every time she passed the house, she would surreptitiously peer over the wall as if hoping to find some kind of relief.

It was such a lovely spring morning that it seemed a shame to spend it indoors, thought Isobel. She would miss her little place here in the village, with its wistful quietness and slow pace of life...perhaps she could do a little gardening before she left? She did not fully admit to herself that she was itching with curiosity; wanting to see this girl, the one who Lady Grantham had told her to keep her son away from. Four years or so had gone by since that letter had arrived and made her so indignant, so enraged that her darling boy was not deemed good enough to play with the carefully nurtured Lady Mary. Being an observant woman, she had noticed Mary and Matthew together from time to time. Her son was terrible at keeping things to himself anyway, she thought to herself, tying the light blue ribbon of her straw gardening hat in a neat bow under her chin. He would always make such transparent excuses to be out of the house; Isobel soon discovered that _I'm going for a walk _actually meant _I'm going to see Mary. _Isobel never revealed her discovery, knowing that her sons boyish pride would have been cut to the quick had he known that she had seen through his deception for years. She would just kiss him on the cheek and say "have a lovely walk, Matthew dear" and let him go on his way. It seemed to make him happy and she saw no impropriety in it, as Lady Grantham had. They were just children, for Heaven's sake!

Isobel walked out of the door into the mild April sunshine, gardening gloves and wicker basket in hand, the soft scent of earth wafting up from the damp ground as she walked over to her beloved herb garden. She loosened some of the earth with her trowel, relishing the dull ache in her arm as she dug out a particularly persistent patch of weeds.

Mary walked past the house again, her eyes drawn to it, over the wall and oh! She jumped as she saw Isobel there in the garden. How embarrassing! She hadn't expected to be caught; wasn't Mrs Crawley supposed to be in Manchester?

"Lady Mary?" The older woman's kind smile put her at ease almost immediately; it was just like Matthew's smile! So kind and warm, the edges of the eyes crinkling up...

"How do you do, Mrs Crawley," Mary said politely.

"You've been walking up and down the street for over forty minutes now..." (Mary flushed with embarrassment. She hadn't realised that she'd been being observed!) "...you must be terribly bored. Would you like to come in for some tea?"

"Oh!" Mary exclaimed. "Yes, please."

Mary opened the creaky front gate, setting foot for the first time in Matthew's garden. How strange that they'd been such friends for all these years and yet she had never even been inside his house! Isobel led her inside and Mary almost gave a sigh of contentment as she entered. The house was so warm and cosy, decorated simply but in good taste. It felt like a real _home_. Mary saw a painting hanging on the wall and walked slowly over to observe it. "Oh..." she breathed. There was something about it, she couldn't quite explain it, couldn't quite put it into words.

"Do you like it? My late husband never did...he felt it was too colourful, that it didn't fit in anywhere in the house. But, now...well, anyway, it's Matthew's favourite. It's almost like looking into a dream, isn't it?"

"Yes! That's exactly it!"

"I suppose you must be interested in art, Lady Mary? Your mother and father must have an extensive collection."

"Well, yes. But nothing like this. They're all rather dreary, I'm afraid."

Isobel chuckled softly at Mary's expressive eye rolling as she explained the portraits and landscapes that her father was so fond of.

"Matthew's quite the artist, you know," said Isobel, intently watching Mary's face.

"Really?"

"Of course, he keeps it quiet, but he's very good. Look."

Isobel went to the shelf and pulled down a little black sketchbook. It was filled to the brim with sketches of everything, from trees and horses to a little robin perching delicately on a branch. There was one of the woods that they were both so fond of, the bench where Cora had discovered them... there were just hundreds of beautiful, detailed drawings of things that Matthew saw and simply had to get down on paper. Mary was absolutely entranced by them. She had no artistic talent herself, but if she had, she would have certainly told someone about it, especially if she was this good! Mary handed the book back to Isobel, who tucked it safely away again before sitting down at the table ready to pour the tea. They sat together in a comfortable silence for a few moments, sipping at their tea.

"You must miss him very much," Mary ventured.

"Yes, very much. The house is so quiet without him! But soon I'll have my sister to keep me company. What about you?"

"I'm sorry?"

"_You_ must miss Matthew."

"Really, I..."

Seeing Mary's cheeks flush a light, delicate pink, Isobel took pity on her, changing her line of questioning.

"Do you have any sisters, Lady Mary?"

"Yes," she groaned. "Two younger sisters."

"Am I to understand from your reaction that you aren't very close?" Isobel inquired, her warm smile making an appearance once more.

"Mmm... Sybil is lovely but she's too young to do anything I like and Edith... well, we don't quite see eye to eye on everything!"

"Or anything?" Isobel's eyes twinkled at her over the teacup as Mary grinned in agreement. "My sister and I were just the same at your age. She was terrible, always taking my dolls and blaming things she did on me! You'll grow out of it."

"Hmmm..." Mary didn't want to be impolite but she wasn't so sure!

"So, do you have any other friends, Lady Mary?"

Mary blinked as she considered seriously. Had she any other friends? When she wasn't indoors with Mama or Granny or her sisters, she was with Matthew. Could that be right? She supposed it must be.

"No, not really," answered Mary. "Mama doesn't really like me to play with any of the children in the village..."

Isobel pursed her lips in irritation. Why force a young girl to be lonely simply to preserve the class boundaries?

"Just Matthew then?" Isobel asked her softly.

"Yes. Just Matthew. He's the only one."

TBC

_So, little Matthew's gone away. Sad, sad times. But is this the end for our duo? Of course not! R&R :D_


	8. Write to Me Often

_Well, someone called "Liz" was very, um, emphatic in her wish for a new chapter, so here it is! Sorry it's been so long since I updated; I'm in my final year of university and my dissertation has taken over my life. Also have a job interview tomorrow... AHHH! So, here is a chapter for you guys. Mary is 13/14 and Matthew is 14/15. As ever, I love to read your reviews, so keep them coming! And I will reply to all reviews I get for this chapter :D Enjoy..._

Mary sat down at the desk, supporting her head with one hand. Goodness, she was bored! Whatever was one to do? She had read all her novels, she _hated_ sewing, she was bored of French, uninspired by her Greek, her pony had gone lame and she wouldn't be able to ride for at least a fortnight... she sighed loudly in frustration. The one thing where she could escape, get some fresh air and clear her head was taken from her. Her sisters were insufferable and she had no company, at least not of her own age.

_Matthew._

The name came unbidden, floating into her mind. She hadn't seen Matthew in over a year and Mary hadn't heard from him in five months or so, not since he had written from his mother's new house in Manchester, wishing her a happy New Year. Why hadn't he been writing to her?

Frowning slightly, she pulled out some notepaper, the Grantham crest embellishing the head of the thick sheet of paper in luxurious gold print. Dipping her fountain pen in the dark blue ink in the inkwell, she began to write...

_Master M. Crawley_

_Cotton House_

_Marlborough College_

_18__th__ May _

_Dear Matthew, _

_I cannot believe you have been away from Downton for a whole year now. In truth, it feels much longer than that when you are subjected to etiquette lessons from Granny almost every day of the week with no chance of escape! I'm afraid I take my boredom out on Edith now instead of you, for which I am sure you are grateful. Yesterday evening, she hid every single one of my dresses in the attics so that I was fearfully late for dinner. Mama gave me such a scolding! But then, I suppose Edith was terribly angry at my hiding all her dolls last week... I hope that you are well and that school is better than you feared. Please write as often as you can; I know you are busy, but I would very much like to hear from you._

_Mary Crawley_

XxX

In the weeks that followed, Mary decided she must be going mad. Yesterday, she had screamed at Sybil, reducing the poor seven year old to a blubbering wreck, desperately apologising to her furious elder sibling for borrowing her pen without asking. Later that day, Mary found she couldn't even remember why she had been so angry in the first place and offered to play dolls with Sybil, even though really, she was much too grown up for such things nowadays. Poor little Sybil had practically shivered in fright when she had offered to play which in turn made Mary want to cry. She duly did, running to her bedroom, slamming the door shut with a loud bang, throwing herself on the bed and sobbing hot tears into her pillow. She felt so alone, like she had no one to confide in, no one to comfort her, no one to bring her out of herself.

_Matthew._

Why wasn't he writing to her?

XxX

The next morning, peace had been restored between the oldest and youngest girls of the Crawley brood, by the kind peace offering of one of Mary's favourite old porcelain dolls, the one with the sapphire blue dress and pearl buttoned shoes which Sybil had admired from afar for many years. Lord Grantham sat at the head of the breakfast table, smiling down at his beautiful young daughters as Carson came in with the morning post on a silver tray. Robert began sorting through the assorted letters; one from Lady Flintshire, one from Rosamund (no doubt asking for more food or as she so eloquently put it, "a taste of home, Robert"), one from...

"Oh! Mary, dear, this one's for you. Who on earth could that be from?"

Mary glanced down at the letter and, immediately recognising the handwriting, couldn't help but give one of her lovely smiles, lighting up her dark eyes.

"Mary? Who is it from?"

Mary hastily pushed the letter into the pocket of her dress.

"Just Auntie Rosamund with the news from London, Papa." Mary gazed innocently at her Papa as he frowned in confusion.

"It didn't look like Rosamund's writing. Are you sur..."

Mary cut off her interrogation with a hasty, "Goodness, is that the time? I must go, Papa; Lynch is saddling my pony for ten o'clock and I've only ten minutes to change! May I please be excused?"

"Of course, my dear," replied Robert, all questions about the letter forgotten.

Giving her Papa a quick peck on the cheek, Mary left the breakfast table. She was practically incandescent, but controlling herself, she went and found her grey summer coat, quickly shrugging it on. Mary ran outside to the stables; to any observer, the story she had told her father appeared to be confirmed, but as she entered the stable block, scanning around for any stable lads or grooms, she turned right towards the ladder of the loft. Within seconds, she was settling down into a secret soft seat of hay, impatiently pulling the letter out of her pocket and tearing open the envelope.

_Lady Mary Crawley_

_Downton Abbey_

_30__th__ June _

_Dear Mary, _

_I am so, so sorry that I am not able to write more often. Our housemaster only allows us to send one letter a week and I am afraid that most of my letters must go to Mother or she will worry. I do like hearing from you though, so send as many letters to me as the Royal Mail can carry! I will try to answer as many as I can. School is fine, lots of work as you may imagine and Gardiner will pick the third team for cricket soon, which I am hoping very much to play in. Do you remember all the times we used to play cricket in Downton woods with the boys? I suppose you are too much of a refined lady now for such games! _

_Yours, _

_Matthew_

XxX

_4__th__ July _

_Dear Matthew,_

_Certainly not! I may have to be a "refined lady" as you put it, but I can still catch you out at cricket! Indeed, when you are next at home, whenever that may be, I absolutely insist on playing. I have been working hard at my Greek with the helpful notes you sent with your last letter, so that when you return, you need not be ashamed of me! Do you think that it will be soon?_

_Yours,_

_Mary Crawley_

XxX

Matthew read Mary's letter under his desk lid in his Latin lesson with a smile ghosting his face. To hear her familiar voice in the words she wrote to him was somehow so comforting. Her letters were by turns teasing, bright, melancholy. Her boredom was clear, but did she want him to come home just so she had someone to entertain her, someone to argue with and tease? Probably. But Matthew couldn't care, her letters evoked memories of home and as he scanned down the page of her last letter, he sighed. So short. He wanted to know more of what was happening back in Downton; had the cat had kittens again? How many tricks had Mary played on Edith? Were the boys playing rounders or cricket this summer? What was she learning from her governess? Did she have any new friends? Mary's letters were never very detailed or very personal and never long enough to satisfy him. Matthew's heavy sigh attracted the unwanted attention of the boy sharing his desk; a very unpopular boy in Matthew's form, weedy and bespectacled with a terrible reputation throughout the school for being a sly little suck up.

"Sir, Sir!" he whined in his nasal voice, frantically waving his hands in the air, practically bouncing up and down in his seat. "Crawley's reading a letter under his desk! And it's from a girl!"

The usually silent Latin class erupted in gales of laughter as Matthew flushed all the way up to the roots of his blonde hair.

"SILENCE!" The master brought down his cane on the desk with a terrifying crack, silencing the boys immediately. "Crawley. Is this true?"

"I...I...yes, sir. But..."

"You know you are not allowed to send or receive letters from any women except relatives."

"But, sir...she is."

Matthew carefully folded down the letter so that just the signature was showing: _Mary Crawley._

The master peered at the signature through his gold rimmed spectacles, his nose almost touching the precious paper. He stood up straight again and made his way back to the front of the class, but not before giving the tell tale boy sitting by Matthew a good hard smack around the back of the head with the Latin dictionary. The boy gave a yelp and his hand flew to his burning, tingling head, staring angrily at the master. Noticing this, the teacher gave him one of his most terrifying looks, withering the small boy into nothingness under his gaze.

"_No one_ likes a grass, Jones."

"Yes, sir," he mumbled, still glaring furiously.

As the boys fell silently to work once more, pens scratching away in the quiet room, Matthew glanced towards the front of the classroom where the teacher was chalking up some more translations. Matthew caught his eye and could have sworn that the master gave him a quick smile before once more writing Latin words onto the blackboard.

After their Latin lesson, a group of boys surrounded Jones in the quad where they normally congregated to swap stories of the morning lessons and where they ate their snacks together at break. Faulkner was first into the fray to defend Matthew.

"I say, Jones, that was rotten, grassing on Crawley like that!" he exclaimed, his face flushing pink with anger at the slight done to his friend.

"Well, I thought...I thought old Rogerson ought to know. Crawley oughtn't to break the rules..."

Faulkner exploded at the weedy boy, further annoyed by the whining voice stammering out pathetic excuses.

"You know dashed well you could have gotten him into real trouble! What if he'd have been sent to the Head? Then he would have missed the third team cricket match next week and you know we need him to play!"

"I don't see why everyone's being so beastly to me! I only did what was right!" Jones' eyes were swimming with unshed tears, only increasing the scorn of the irate boys.

"You nasty sneak! We'll show you what happens to boys like you!"

The five boys surrounded him, backing him against the wall. As Matthew came out into the quad, he saw the fear in the eyes of Jones as the five boys surrounded him, Faulkner grabbing his collar. Matthew ran over and tried to put himself between them.

"Leave him alone, Faulkner!"

"But Crawley, he jolly well needs teaching a lesson! We don't want sneaks in our form!"

"Look at him. He's not worth it. Besides, we need to practise bowling this break and Jones is only going to take up our time."

"Alright then." Faulkner's mouth twitched and twisted into a reluctant half smile, roughly unhanding Jones' collar, the smaller boy breathing heavily in relief.

XxX

Elated from their cricket match where they had secured a convincing win over Rugby School, the boys piled into the school hall, the promise of a fine after match tea tempting them in from the glorious sunshine. Great jugs of lemonade stood along the table, piles of sandwiches and cake, bowls of strawberries and cream were placed here and there to the great joy of the cricket team.

The ravenous boys fell on these rare treats, good manners momentarily forgotten as they grabbed sandwiches for their own plates and teased the others about their performance in the match.

"Good job you tripped and caught that ball, Crawley!" The boys roared with laughter. It had been a wonderful catch, the ball high and fast from a Rugby lad being caught by the tip of Matthew's fingers, rolling into the safety of his palm to the raucous cheers of the school and his teammates.

Matthew flushed slightly, giving a modest smile and as the boys feasted on scones and bread and butter, he slipped quietly away from the table unnoticed. Settling himself down in a secluded spot in the common room, he began to write.

_17__th__ July _

_My dear Mary,_

_You would never believe the cricket match we played today! We would have put the Downton boys to shame! Northwood hit the ball so far; it reminded me awfully of that first time you played rounders with us when we were little and you hit it so far that the boys all stared in wonder. It was just like that! The Rugby boys just gawped as he hit it for six. It made me wish I could be at Downton, with you, although the boys here are very good sorts. It's not the same I suppose. I will hold you to your promise of a game of cricket when I return, even if it is after your debutante ball! I couldn't say when I might come back. I hope very much it will be soon. Do write to me at my Manchester address this summer._

_Yours,_

_Matthew_

XxX

_25__th__ July _

_Dear Matthew,_

_Whatever am I to do with 10 weeks of summer stretching into the distance before me? All our tutors have left us for the summer. Mama and Papa went up to London some weeks ago now and soon I will be able to go with them. Well, not very soon, I suppose. Not until I'm seventeen at least, but that seems to me to be so old! So I will just think of it as the year after next after next... Goodness, I just thought! When I have my first Season, you will be eighteen! Think of that! Eighteen. Remember when we used to talk about what we would do when we were eighteen? It seemed so very far away but now seems looming ever closer. We are growing up much too quickly for my liking._

_Mary _

XxX

_4__th__ October_

_My dearest Mary,_

_Thank you for all your letters this summer; they have been a greater happiness to me than I can ever express to you. I apologise for not having written, but Mother has been terribly ill and I have been caring for her, with the help of my Aunt Florence. I know you will be glad to hear that she is on the mend. Term started three weeks ago, so I am back at Marlborough, should you wish to write me. I'm in the third form now, but Rogerson says perhaps I might be able to skip a form and go up to the fourth in a couple of weeks! It's nothing to make a fuss about, but I did want to tell you. It all seems so fast, this growing up business! But I suppose we must deal with it as best we can._

_Yours,_

_Matthew_

XxX

As Mary sat at her desk, tapping her teeth with the end of her fountain pen, for once she found herself struggling to write. Scraps of torn paper and scrumpled sheets of half written letters littered the desk around her. Everything she wrote seemed childish or somehow embarrassing or the words weren't quite right. Ugh! Why was this suddenly so hard? She had been writing to Matthew for years!

_My dear Matthew..._

She scrawled a line through the words. They just didn't sound right. Why, she couldn't imagine. Matthew always started his letters like that.

_Matthew..._

For goodness sake! She couldn't just write "Matthew"! How dreadfully blunt it sounded. Mary crumpled the piece of paper in her hand and threw it to the floor to join the rapidly growing pile there on the carpet.

Shaking herself, Mary took out a fresh sheet of notepaper and began a new letter with fresh resolve. She would just write out what she wanted and then send it. That was the most sensible plan. Her pen flew across the paper, filling the paper with all her thoughts and questions.

_Yours, Mary._

She signed it with a flourish, blotted the ink and quickly folded it up, sealing it with her own special seal and placing it on the top of the pile of half finished letters.

The door clicked open and Mary heard a gasp. She turned to see the maid gawping and quickly, politely covering her dismayed face with a small smile to her young mistress.

"Goodness, milady! You have been busy!"

The maid's eyes were wide with amazement as she took in the scene; piles of discarded letters, scraps of paper dotted around an inky fingered Mary, a small smudge of ink adorning her cheek. Mary hadn't really noticed when she was making the mess, but now, well, it looked like the room of an insane person!

"Oh!" Mary exclaimed in horror. "I do apologise."

"No harm done, milady. What do you want doing with all this paper?"

"Just throw it all out, thank you, Dora."

Mary swept from the room, in search of something to wash this dreadful ink from her hands...

Dora swept up all the paper from the floor and the desk into her arms. Goodness, there was a lot! She looked around the room in satisfaction. Not a scrap of paper to be seen. Trundling down the servants stairs into the kitchen, Dora was immediately berated by a flustered Mrs Patmore.

"Dora, girl, what are you doin' with all that paper down 'ere? Throw it in the furnace before I do the same to you!"

"Yes, Mrs Patmore!"

Dora placed all the letters and scraps of paper into the furnace, prodding it with the poker until it all turned to fine, grey ash.

TBC

_So, I hope you enjoyed that! I can't say when more will be coming, but I will try to update when I can! R&R _


	9. Paris and Prizes

_Oh my gosh, I cannot believe how long it's been since I updated this story! I finished my last ever university exam on Friday, so now I'm freeeeeeee! Thank you so much for all of your reviews and your encouragement; hopefully you will stick with the story despite my shameful lack of updates in recent months. In this chapter, Mary is 15 and Matthew is 16 and it sort of stretches over three months ish. It's _maybe_ a mild T and it's an extra long chapter, just for you! Please R&R, I can't wait to hear from you guys after such a long absence :D LMC_

Matthew walked quickly across the quad, as quickly as he could without running, hoping desperately that he wasn't going to be late for Latin. Glancing around, making sure no one was watching, he clutched his books to his chest and began to run. He had almost made it to the other side of the ivy strewn quad, one hand reaching out for the door handle, the other balancing several heavy textbooks, when he was startled by a booming-

"_Crawley_!"

He stopped dead and turned with some trepidation to find the sports master a few paces away.

"Yes, sir?"

"You seem to be growing at an _alarming_ rate, Crawley."

Matthew was momentarily thrown by the seemingly arbitrary statement, but certainly glad he had escaped reprimand for running between lessons. He coloured slightly as the masters' eye swept critically over him and his too short blazer, not to mention the too short trousers which were now very definitely displaying his navy blue socks.

"Well, uhh...yes, sir."

His teacher heaved an exaggerated sigh as Matthew surreptitiously glanced at his pocket watch, his fingers beginning to fidget by his side with nerves as he contemplated the consequences for his lateness.

"For goodness sake, write to your mother today for more clothes. And I want to see you on the field at two o'clock."

"Sir?"

"Redman has broken his leg, so we need a new fly half and you'd be a good size for that now. Two o'clock."

"Yes, sir."

"If you're going to run about, then we'd better put it to good use!"

XxX

The Lady Grantham's sat on the Downton lawn at a perfectly appointed table, taking afternoon tea in the mild English sunshine.

"Mary's been looking terribly down in the mouth lately," observed the elder Lady Grantham.

"Mmm."

The Dowager sighed. "Fifteen really is the most trying age."

"Don't get me started! Raising three very English daughters is hard enough, but whenever I say anything at all to Mary, she just looks at me like...like I'm the stupidest person on Earth!"

"Yes, well... how about a change of scenery? Do you think that might raise her spirits?"

"Perhaps. Why, what did you have in mind?"

"An old friend of mine, Lady Ashford, has recently moved to Paris with that ghastly new husband of hers. She asked me to visit whenever it was convenient, but of course I would never dream of swanning off to Paris by myself. If Mary were to accompany me though, it might be quite bearable. And she could take in the culture, improve her French; it would be a simply marvellous experience to have before her first Season."

"Mary is a little young to go abroad...but with you as chaperone, I'm sure that no harm could come to her. Yes, you take her to Paris and we can finally get some _peace_!"

XxX

"To Paris? Paris? Are you serious, Mama?"

"Yes, darling!"

Cora laughed at Mary's disbelieving face. "Every young woman should visit Paris at least once and you could even start buying things for your first Season; not dresses of course, but gloves and ribbons and lace..."

The list went on for some time "... and shoes!" Cora paused to take a deep breath. "So, what do you think, Mary?"

"Well, I suppose... that might be alright," Mary conceded ungraciously, looking at her reflection in the mirror and patting her hair into place.

"I'll book the crossing for you and Granny tomorrow."

Sybil tugged at her mother's dress.

"Why can't I go, Mama?"

"Oh, Sybil darling. You're only nine!"

"_So_?"

XxX

Matthew tackled his Eton opponent to the ground for the fourth time that day, bruises already starting to form on the arms and legs of both boys.

As the whistle blew for full time and the boys sighed with exhaustion and relief, Matthew's opposite number came to shake his hand.

"I say, you were marvellous!"

"Thank you, I wasn't sure if...I mean, it was my first match."

"Well, you were a tough opponent to play then ..."

"Matthew Crawley."

"Ah. Evelyn Napier."

The two boys made their way across the field to the school, more than ready for their tea. Matthew was accosted by one of the upper fourth boys outside of the dining room, pulling him aside to whisper excitedly-

"Crawley, Crawley! The sixth are going to the pub tonight and they've invited us to go because of how well we played today!"

"But we're not allowed, you know that."

"I know but...please? It'll be such fun. They've managed to get hold of a key so we can sneak out after lights out."

"It's all very well sneaking out for fun, Lawson, but really I think the sixth push it too far. What would our mothers say if she they knew we were sneaking around, drinking after dark?"

The younger boy drooped with guilt as Matthew's words seeped into his conscience.

"I...I know you're right, Crawley. But we don't want to be thought wet, do we?"

"No, but just tell them we have some prep that we have to do tonight."

"Alright then."

XxX

"What do you think about all this, Mama?" frowned Robert. "I think it's far too soon, much too soon."

Cora sighed in frustration at her stubborn husband.

"Robert, whether you like it or not, Mary is fifteen years old now. She is a young woman, not a little girl anymore. It's high time."

"But really, Cora, we aren't going to present her at court for another two years. At least. Is it really necessary?"

"Absolutely! And I _refuse_ to take Mary to Paris if you deny her this," insisted his mother.

Under the piercing gaze of both his wife and his mother, Robert knew that this was one battle he was certainly not going to win.

"Fine. She can wear her hair up. But I'm warning you, Mama; I won't have _any_ man coming _near_ Mary. That is out of the question. You must guard her with your _life_."

"Robert, my dear. Mary is family. Would I allow anything less?"

"I supposed O'Brien can go with her as her ladies maid."

"Robert! Are you out of your senses? I couldn't do without O'Brien for twelve hours, let alone twelve weeks!"

This was getting far too complicated for Lord Grantham, who, if truth be told, just wanted to get back to his book.

"Very well. Hire a new maid for Mary. Do whatever you like. But I beg you _never_ to have a conversation with me about ladies hair _ever_ again."

The Lady Grantham's smiled at one another, their antipathy towards one another momentarily suspended in their shared triumph. Mary, hearing the news with her ear pressed firmly to the keyhole, grinned and ran up the stairs to her bedroom, where she immediately began planning exactly how her hair should look.

XxX

Despite numerous dress fittings, trips to hat makers and hiring Mary's new maid (a quiet, fair sixteen year old called Anna), it seemed mere moments to Mary before she was stood on the deck of a large ship in Dover, hair newly coiffed, about to cross the Channel for the first time.

"Oh, isn't it wonderful, Granny?" smiled Mary, as she breathed in the fresh salty air.

"Yes, my dear. Although perhaps my sea legs are not what they once were. I think I'll go inside for some tea. Though God knows what _appalling_ tea one will find on these modern ships."

The Dowager, her face now a very faint tinge of green, still managed to walk like she was at the head of a coronation procession, her regal air not in the least affected by her seasickness.

Mary stayed up on deck, the sea air whipping up her hair under her brand new hat which she was clutching to her head. The wind had become a bit too much for the other passengers to bear and the deck was now deserted, but she didn't want to miss this. The waves and the water and the wind...it was glorious. Staring far out to sea, she lost herself in thoughts of what she would find on the continent...

"Hello!"

Mary jumped in surprise and grabbed the railing beside her as a boy a little older than her appeared by her side.

"Oh, I do beg your pardon. I expect you thought you were alone up here."

Mary said not a word. Whatever was one supposed to say to boys who appeared out of nowhere and talked to you? Whatever was one supposed to say to _boys_?

"Am I disturbing you? If I am, just say so and I'll pop off back inside to my mother. Although I am glad to find that there is somebody under fifty on this boat!"

Mary laughed in spite of herself. She noticed he was a good looking sort of boy, with dark brown hair that was as neat as it possibly could be in this terrible wind. Warm brown eyes, fairly tall, he looked respectable at least...

"Are you travelling on to Paris..." he paused.

"Mary. I mean, Lady Mary. Crawley."

"How do you do, Lady Mary? May I introduce myself? Evelyn Napier."

Mary held out her free hand, the other still desperately holding her hat firmly against her head.

"How do you do, Mr Napier?"

"This wind is simply ghastly, isn't it? Shall we go inside? And perhaps we can talk a little more and you can tell me all about that formidable looking woman with the cane and the purple hat..."

XxX

"I hear from Lady Ashford that you've made quite an impression on the young Mr Napier."

"Granny!"

"I wasn't born yesterday, my dear! He's quite the handsome young man..."

"Granny, please!"

"Well, what do you think of him? He's the heir to Viscount Branksome, you know. I suppose it helps for you young girls that he's tall, dark and handsome."

"Granny, please stop! He's just over there, he might hear you!"

The Dowager merely chuckled at her granddaughter's evident discomfort.

"I haven't said anything embarrassing about you and Mr Napier, have I?"

"Oh god. He's looking over now. Don't turn around, Granny."

Violet immediately turned around and waved to the Napier family, receiving an awkward sort of wave from Evelyn.

"_Granny_, how could you?" Mary hissed. "Now he'll know we were talking about him!"

"But we _were_, my dear."

"Now you've made him feel awkward. Oh dear, he's coming over."

Evelyn shyly made his way over to their table (he was still a bit frightened of Mary's indomitable grandmother.)

"Good morning, Lady Grantham, Lady Mary. Lady Grantham...my mother was wondering, perhaps Lady Mary would like to accompany us to the Louvre this morning? Only if it's convenient, of course."

"Mr Napier, this is positively providential! Mary was just saying to me how much she wanted to see the Louvre, weren't you, Mary? But I was feeling a little worn out to accompany her. She was terribly disappointed. Now I know she will be in safe hands."

Mary almost gaped at this barefaced lie and began to protest that she had said no such thing, but Evelyn got in first.

"I'm sorry to hear you're not feeling your best, Lady Grantham. You must rest for as long as you please today. My mother would be delighted to have Lady Mary along for the whole day."

"The whole day? My, my... well, off you go, Mary. Have a lovely time."

XxX

"Do you still have a governess, Lady Mary?"

"Yes, I do."

"She'll be leaving you soon, I imagine?"

"I don't think very soon, Lady Napier. Not for another three years, I imagine."

"Goodness! How old are you, my dear?"

"Fifteen."

"Only fifteen! Gracious!" Lady Napier's eyes were so wide that she reminded Mary greatly of a picture of an insect she had seen many years ago in one of her childhood books. "I thought you must be seventeen at the very least! So you haven't had your first Season?"

"Not yet, Lady Napier."

Evelyn interjected, trying to spare Mary from his unstoppable mother.

"Mother, please stop asking her questions! You're embarrassing her!"

"Am I?"

"No, not at all."

Lord Napier put down his newspaper and looked at the blushing girl seated by his wife.

"You _are_ embarrassing her, Helen," he said with a half smile. "Leave her alone for now, my darling."

XxX

Walking about the gallery with Evelyn by her side had been _quite_ nice, Mary decided. He was very handsome...although there was no escaping the fact that he was just a tad dull. They were sat at a table in some fashionable eatery close to the Louvre, where Mrs Napier had _insisted_ on going. Mary sat by Evelyn, listening politely to him; he had completed his final term at Eton only a couple of weeks ago, he had been cricket captain and played rugby. They had won every game except the final one against Marlborough, but then, they did have a brand new fly half who was jolly good...

One word cut through Mary's consciousness like a knife.

"Marlborough?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, I must seem terribly dull. Of course a young lady doesn't want to hear about rugby!"

"No, please tell me. You said you played Marlborough, Mr Napier?"

"Yes, they have a new fly half. Awfully nice fellow, but I can't quite remember his name..."

Mary opened her mouth to ask more questions, memories she'd thought quite buried away were bubbling to the surface, but her curiosity was to go unsatisfied due to an unwelcome interjection from Lady Napier.

"Evelyn, dear?"

"Yes, Mother?"

"You must be boring poor Lady Mary half to death with all your talk about rugby! Talk to me, dear."

Mary reluctantly turned to face Lady Napier and tried to fend off the barrage of verbal attacks as well as she possibly could.

"So who is making your dresses in Paris? Mademoiselle Vionnet is making all of mine, but of course, she is one of the best dressmakers in the city..."

"Oh, Monsieur Poiret is making mine. He's the best dressmaker in Paris; Granny says none of the others can be trusted to get anything done on time and his fabrics are so much nicer than anyone else's. But I'm sure _yours_ will be quite lovely."

Lord Napier had been peering over his newspaper (to which he seemed to be surgically attached) watching the exchange and gave a small snort when Mary put his wife in her place. He flicked his newspaper up again and he became absorbed once more.

A young man entered the room and noticing Evelyn sat there, immediately bounced over and clapped him on the back.

"Napier! How are you, old boy? Isn't Paris the pits? I haven't seen a pretty girl in weeks!"

Evelyn and this man fell in to a whispered discussion, occasionally stealing furtive glances at Mary. After a time, Mary began to notice their gaze and dropped her eyes to her lap to disguise her embarrassment.

"Evelyn, dear. What can you and Mr. Laurence find to talk about in such secrecy? Do tell us," prattled Lady Napier.

"Laurie was just saying that Lady...uh...asking if Lady Mary was going to the ball this evening?"

"I shouldn't have thought so! She isn't even out!"

Mr Laurence and Evelyn exchanged a quick glance before Mr Laurence responded.

"What a pity. Are you sure you can't come, Lady Mary? I would very much like to dance with you."

"Leave her alone, Laurence! The poor child doesn't know where to look now!"

XxX

"It's written all over your face, my dear."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Granny."

"You're planning something."

"I am not!"

"And if I'm any judge, it's something to do with that ball and a certain young man..."

"Well, there was a friend of Mr Napier's..."

"Gracious! Another one? What it is to be young and beautiful! Go to bed, my dear. You'll have your share of balls and believe me, they aren't as wonderful as you girls envision. Such a crush of people! It's a wonder no one is killed...although there was a masked ball in Paris where..."

She trailed off and made her way to her bedroom, leaving Mary sat in their shared sitting room.

Mary supposed she couldn't actually _go_ to the ball, but there was no harm in looking, surely? She slowly unlocked the door and crept down the corridor to the balcony overlooking the ballroom, the dance now in full swing. Men floated their graceful partners smoothly around the ballroom and Mary shivered with a pleasant anticipation that soon, she would be able to join dances and put on beautiful dresses and be spun dizzily around by a handsome man...

"Lady Mary?"

"Oh!"

"I saw you watching from the balcony and I... did I startle you?"

Mary shook her head.

"Good. I'm glad."

"Are you enjoying the ball, Mr Laurence?"

"Not at all."

"Oh?"

"You see, there was this one girl I wanted to dance with but I couldn't ask her..."

"Why couldn't you?"

"Because she was watching from the balcony."

"Oh. _Oh... _you mean me?_"_

Mary's eyes dropped first to the floor, then looked everywhere possible but at him. There was an awkward pause as she tried hopelessly to think of something witty or...or _anything_ really to say. The silence was cut by his deep voice, quietly dropping another compliment.

"You're so beautiful."

Mary had never been called beautiful before. Oh, her Papa would compliment her on a new dress, Granny would say that she was a well looking girl, Mama would say how pretty she was, but the word _beautiful_ had so much more depth and feeling behind it. It was something so much more than just an offhand comment. The word itself made her simultaneously elated (she had finally been called beautiful by a handsome man!) and supremely uncomfortable, especially when she was in such close proximity to this man. Her heart was pounding in her chest, almost painfully and she couldn't concentrate on another word he was saying to her. His dark eyes were sweeping over her face and her body in a way that made her want to run back to her room and lock the door, back to the safety of her grandmother.

"Would you care to walk with me, Mary? I saw a delightful room just down the corridor that I would love to show you."

Mary stood up abruptly, in the same second as Mr Laurence reached out his hand to touch hers. His gesture went unnoticed by Mary and as she dusted off her dress, his hand floated uselessly back down to his side, his gloved fingers clenching and fidgeting in annoyance. Luckily, Anna came around the corner to save Mary from further conversation.

"Milady?"

As Anna's friendly face came into view, Mary practically beamed in relief, but quickly schooled her face into its calm, careful mask.

"Yes, Anna? What is it?"

"I... Lady Grantham said to tell you to come back to your room."

Mr Laurence made a curt bow to Mary as she made her escape with Anna by her side.

"What did Granny say, Anna?"

"Uh, nothing, milady. She's asleep. I hope you don't mind, but ever since I heard Mr Laurence talking about you earlier, I thought I should keep an eye on you."

"I certainly don't need looking aft... Mr Laurence was talking about me? What did he say?"

"Oh, I really couldn't say, milady."

"Anna!"

"We shouldn't talk of it here; let's go back to your room."

The two girls made their way down the corridor and into Mary's lovely cream and gold room, Anna locking the door behind them.

Anna raised her hand to Mary's ear and whispered what she had overheard as she was walking out of the hotel earlier that afternoon. The name of her mistress being spoken had caught her interest and she had listened to what the gentleman had been saying about Lady Mary, although she wished she hadn't. He was certainly no gentleman.

"He said that he was going to..."

Mary trembled slightly as Anna recounted the conversation.

"Was that all he said?"

"No, milady...but I really don't think you should hear..."

"Tell me," Mary ordered. "_Now_."

"Well, he said that you were..."

Although her face had paled slightly with Anna's words, she managed to ask composedly: "Is that everything?"

Anna gulped.

"No. He said that he would like to..."

As Anna told her the last snippet of conversation she had heard before the men had retired to the smoking room, Mary gasped and clapped her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide in shock.

"But what does it actually _mean_?"

Anna plaited Mary's hair for bed and told her everything.

XxX

School prize day was the one day of the year that all of the Marlborough boys looked their best; ties neatly knotted, hair neatly brushed back faces scrubbed to gleaming whiteness. Their parents were coming, so naturally they had to make them proud.

"The classics prize is awarded to Matthew Crawley."

Matthew made his way up onto the stage to shake hands and to receive his prize with pride; he had worked so hard this year and his mothers smile as he made his way back to his form made him glad of it.

The boys sat straight up on their forms in the old school hall, clapping politely as the prize winners went onto the stage to collect their prizes for literature, mathematics, French, theology... the list did go on a little and the younger boys in particular began to fidget, or to sneak a sweet from a neighbour.

"It's such a lovely day, I won't keep you much longer," droned the headmaster. "But now we come to perhaps the most important announcement of the day. Although it is not a prize per se, I'm sure that you can all comprehend the honour of becoming next year's Head Boy."

Whispering and speculating broke out amongst the boys, the result of having bottled up all of their energy all afternoon. The headmaster indulged them for a moment and then raised his hand for silence. He got it immediately.

"This young man truly embodies the spirit of Marlborough. He has impressed us all with his dedication to his studies, entering the top class next year a full two years early. But more than that, his honesty, integrity and good manners have earned him a great deal of friendship and admiration, as well as the respect of the younger boys and the staff. It is with great pleasure that I announce that, starting in September, Matthew Crawley will be Head Boy."

There was one split second of silence as the news sunk in.

Then the boys exploded. The raucous cheering had some of the more genteel ladies in the audience covering their ears, but how could anyone else mind as they watched the flushed blonde sixteen year old trying to let the news sink in as hundreds of boys clustered around him, patting him on the back, giving hearty congratulations and cheering his name. Amidst the chaos, Matthew turned around and saw his mother beaming with pride, dabbing delicately at her eyes with her pocket handkerchief. Although supremely happy in this one moment, he couldn't help wishing that just one other face could have been there to smile at his success, her dark eyes brimming with happiness for him...

XxX

Mary wasn't sure she could look any man in the face ever again. Not knowing..._that_. But as Evelyn joined them for breakfast and she noticed the way he stared at her when he thought she wasn't looking, she realised that a _gentleman_ would be content to settle for pleasant conversation and her pretty smile. She would take her example of what a gentleman should be from Evelyn and from Ma...

"Mary, dear. Anna told me of your conversation last night."

Mary tried to look as unruffled as possible as she sipped at her tea before asking-

"What did she say?"

"About this dreadful Mr Laurence and what he said."

"Oh."

"It's all very well to have suitors, Mary, but a gentleman would never take advantage of a lady, or put her in a compromising situation. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Granny... but please, can we not talk of it anymore? Or ever again?"

_Well, I hope you enjoyed that! Reviews are much appreciated... I think in the next chapter, Matthew comes back to Downton..._


End file.
